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A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


(DETTE OUBLIEE) 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 

7 

LEON DE TINSEAU 


BY 

FLORENCE BELKNAP GILMOUR 

TRANSLATOR OF “ IN NORWAY*’ 

AND “ THE DAMASCUS ROAD*’ 


AUTHORIZED EDITION 


28 :Sv'- 

PHILADELPHIA OA 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY ' 

1895 



Copyright, 1895, 

BY 

J, B. Lippincott Company. 


Stereotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


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r 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


CHAPTER 1. 

In a chapel of a convent, the most aristocratic 
of Grenoble, a young girl was praying. Her 
head was buried in her hands, and only a thick 
coil of brown hair, twisted low on the nape of 
the neck, was exposed to view. Her dress, a 
cross between the convent uniform and the 
costume worn by the fashionable world, clad, 
without any attempt at elegance, a body slender 
but strong. Mademoiselle Chantal de Monestier 
was an orphan without fortune, and had remained 
as a parlour boarder in the convent of which her 
aunt was Superior. She was quite ignorant of 
the world, and was just completing a self-imposed 
three days’ retreat, as a prelude to a most grave 
resolution. 

The shuffling steps of the old chaplain inter- 
rupted her prayers. As the door of the confes- 
sional creaked on its hinges with a plaintive 
wail, like a sigh of repentance. Mademoiselle 
de Monestier approached the sacred tribunal 
and immediately began her mystical interview. 

1 * 6 


6 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Before absolving his penitent, the holy abbe 
said, “ My child, may God keep me from urging 
you to this particular marriage, or, indeed, to 
marriage at all. I can only reiterate what I have 
told you so often during the last two years : the 
profession of religion, in truth the most perfect 
of all, is not that which God has intended you 
to adopt, notwithstanding the wish of your 
heart. I admit that you possess faith such as 
the ordinary Christians of to-day do not possess. 
Yours is that of the Virgins of the Catacombs, 
whose crowns were reddened in their own blood. 
To-morrow you would defy the wild beasts of 
the arena; only, I have endeavoured to make 
you understand that convents are not arenas, 
nor Superiors Diocletians and Yeros. To face 
a panther, crucifix in hand, is but the affair of 
a moment. To obey for fifty years, wearing 
peace in the eyes and heart ; to obey people who 
are not infallible, who are narrow in their views, 
less perfect, less intelligent than yourself, per- 
haps ; to obey those who cannot understand or 
divine in you the involuntary resistance of the 
soul, that is what is so dfficult and what alarms 
me, knowing your nature.” 

The old priest stopped in order to allow his 
penitent an opportunity to reply. As she was 
silent, he continued : 

‘‘ In the presence of all truth you are inflexi- 
ble. You have invariably before your eyes logic 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


7 


and duty with their glorious infallibility, without 
considering' that a human being is composed of 
errors and weaknesses. Polyeucte upset his idols. 
You, in an emergency, would overturn all those 
little images which we raise in our hearts to self- 
ishness, to interest, to pride. Alas ! these poor 
plaster idols are found even in convents. Obe- 
dience, my daughter, may exact that you dust 
them with care, instead of employing all your 
zeal to sweep away the debris. That is why, in 
my conscience as priest and in my love as father, 
I am anxious for you ; not because of the divine 
rule, hut because of the human beings who apply 
it. I trust even in the world you may not find 
the way too hard. One last question : Do you 
love Monsieur de Bernaz 

“ Yes, I think so,” answered Chantal, without 
blushing. 

‘‘ Then, my child, may God show you the way. 
I bless you. Go in peace.” 

Almost at the same hour in a chateau not far 
from Chambery the old Marquise de Bernaz 
was unburdening her heart to a country neigh- 
bour, to whom she often intrusted her confi- 
dences. 

The last words have not been said, but I hope 
the affair is as good as settled. Ah ! my dear, 
how difficult it is to find a wife for Maxim e !” 

“ How absurd ! with his fine figure, his intelli- 


8 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


gence united to the name and fortune which will 
be his. With all these advantages Maxime has 
only to choose among the very best partis 

“ Perhaps ; but it is not only a question of a 
good parti. You know the ins and outs of my 
family. After twenty-six years, the first discus- 
sion is yet to arise between my husband and 
myself. As for Maxime, he is just the same to 
me as when he was a child, confiding, respect- 
ful, tender. In my household everything runs 
smoothly without a suspicion of a ripple. We 
are very happy.” 

“ Then why try to find a daughter-in-law ?” 

The Marquise’s plump cheeks suddenly fiushed, 
as they always did at any contradiction. It did 
not suit her to let the world know (in fact, it 
knew very well) why she deemed it prudent to 
have Maxime married. She replied, — 

“ He is twenty-four years old ; few young men 
of his age would consent to live at Bernaz as 
he has to do. Fortunately, he is- of a dreamy 
nature.” 

“A poetical nature,” emphasised the neigh- 
bour, who understood well her role of confidante. 
“ But one must admit that a young man cannot 
always dream.” She finished with a discreet 
little cough. 

‘‘ Evidently,” approved the Marquise. ‘‘ Yow, 
can you imagine a young lady, accustomed to 
wealth, brought up in excitement and indepen- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


9 


clence, anxious to shine and to rule, — can you 
imagine her invading my house with an army of 
relations, friends, and things-in-law ?” 

“ Ah, no, my good friend, I cannot imagine 
her,” affirmed the neighbour, with conviction; 
“ above all, I cannot imagine you. It would he 
purgatory after paradise.” 

“Well, my dear, we will stay in paradise. 
This little Monestier seems to have been made 
expressly for us. She knows nothing of the 
world, and has never worn anything better than 
a woollen gown. Since her twelfth year she has 
been in the convent, and but for us would have 
finished her days there, having neither fortune 
nor family. She is a child absolutely without 
opinions; where could she have formed any, 
indeed ? She has no will. Till now her life has 
been passed in obeying. She possesses enough 
intelligence to appreciate Maxime, not enough 
to treat him as an equal. Finally, she is rather 
pretty.” 

“Well,” nodded the neighbour, shaking the 
wild oats in her bonnet, “I should like to see 
a lady of Bernaz who was not pretty. With you 
beauty in women is a family tradition. Come, 
it seems to me you have caught a rare bird ; but 
I will wager you have been watching over the 
nest since the birdling had his first plumage, 
you see so far above and beyond you.” 

“ Ah, my good friend, it is necessary to under- 


10 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


stand how to steer one’s bark. But what a 
responsibility for me, the forming of her educa- 
tion ! I reassure myself by saying it is new 
ground where one has only to plant.” 

“ I know you, my dear,” said her friend, as she 
was going, and I am not apprehensive as to 
the future of the planting.” 


CHAPTEK IL 

If we go back to the beginning of Maxime 
de Bernaz’s existence it will be seen that his 
nature, his education, and the accident of cer- 
tain adventures were responsible to a large ex- 
tent for the shaping of his after-life. The errors 
of this aristocratic failure were of the most 
serious sort ; but before being culpable he was 
unlucky. His first misfortune was a grievous 
poverty of intellect, which, strange to relate, 
manifested itself gradually, and culminated in 
all its sad evidence at an age when a man ought 
to know how to govern himself and to direct 
others. Maxime had dazzled his family by his 
precocity. When his baby contemporaries still 
had the last drop of maternal milk on their lips 
he was reciting fables ; at five years he drew by 
instinct, greatly to the disgust of his father, a 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


11 


good Savoyard nobleman, to whom all occupation 
was degrading except hunting and serving King 
Charles Albert, while the Marquise thrilled with 
pride at the thought, or rather certainty, that 
her son would be a great painter. She cherished 
many expectations of the same kind, and it re- 
mains to be seen whether she took the best 
means to have them realised. She indulged her 
young prodigy to the verge of folly while his 
father was at Court or was shooting partridges 
on the high plateau of Bernaz. Ere long it was 
sufficient merely to approach the future great 
man to discover that he had become insupport- 
able. As the Marquis would not stand the want 
of discipline, his decision was prompt. As soon 
as Maxime was old enough he was sent to a 
school in Chambery, for which the child, pre- 
cocious likewise in his rancour, never forgave 
his father. The first year, at least, was a tri- 
umph ! Maxime took all the prizes, which fact 
astonished no one. But the year after a young 
competitor had the audacity to rob him of some 
honours. Gradually, then instead of prizes he 
gained only honourable mentions, finally only 
extra tasks, and the prodigy, at first astonished, 
then furious, became discouraged because he was 
no longer a prodigy, and began to know the faith- 
ful companions of his whole life, — laziness and en- 
nui. The punishments awakened his resentment, 
which grew into a deep hatred against the priests 


12 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


who had administered them. However, he man- 
aged to scratch through his examinations and 
returned to his home, where he found his aureole 
in the flatteries of his mother and neighbours. 

Beneath the roof of the dilapidated chdteau 
he vegetated in agreeable idleness, disguised 
under the name of repose. He got up late, 
having a repugnance to all physical trouble and 
all moral constraint, finding at the proper time 
his dinner served and his soup warm, opposite 
his mother, who watched him eat with admira- 
tion. At the same hour and the same place the 
same meal had never failed to be served during 
centuries. To breakfast at eleven, to dine at 
six, seemed to the young man a spontaneous 
function of life. Hobody ever had drawn, no- 
body ever would draw his attention to the strug- 
gles, the cares, the labour which precede and 
provide it. He resembled the crowd of simple 
and ignorant folk who count upon the rising of 
the sun on the morrow, without other guarantee 
than the beneficent habit of that heavenly body. 
But sometimes in the life of a man, a family, or 
a nation a day comes when the sun sets to rise 
no more. 

At the time when Maxime, against his will, 
was about to quit this repose and follow the 
paternal footsteps, an historical event plunged 
him once more into idleness. Savoy changed 
masters, and the old Marquis, bearing a grudge 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


13 


against the new master, France, as well as against 
the old one, Italy, retired within his own domain 
to finish his life. The irreconcilable nobleman 
at this moment changed all his ideas respecting 
his son’s future, and declared his intention of 
making him a Cincinnatus — ^before the sword. 

Thus Maxime was supposed in the eyes of the 
public to assist his father in the administration 
of a patrimonial estate, more extensive than 
productive, owing to long neglect. But in reality 
the Marquis exacted absolute individual power. 
So the young man could sleep, smoke, and bore 
himself in his own room to his heart’s content. 
Gradually, as the years brought to him the in- 
stincts of pleasure, he roused himself as much as 
possible from his apathy and turned his mind to 
stratagems. How and then he found means to 
quit Bernaz, and drank of the none too intoxi- 
cating cup of the voluptuousness of Chambery. 
He extended his visits as far as Lyons, with the 
conviction that he was contemplating that part 
of Olympus reserved to the gods. But this was 
no longer an affair of one or two louis. His 
father held a tight rein over him, so Maxime 
found himself obliged to borrow, and on coming 
of age his first signature was clandestinely placed 
on a promissory note. It hound him for five 
hundred francs ; this amount did not mean ruin, 
hut soon this sum was doubled, and he found 
no little difficulty in raising it, so great was the 
2 


14 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


terror the old Marquis inspired in all the re- 
gion around. This time the secret, not so well 
guarded, came to the ears of the family notary, 
a man who was still young in years but who had 
prematurely aged in the atmosphere of an office 
founded by his great-grandfather. Old Bernaz 
in speaking of him was wont to say, — 

‘‘ I have rarely seen Fran9ois Dubigeon mis- 
taken, but I have never seen him smile.’^ 

Devoted as a dog to his clients, especially 
when they had the prestige of an ancient name, 
and of having been old-time patrons, this scriv- 
ener considered it his duty to notify the Marquise 
of the “ prodigalities” of her son. Madame de 
Bernaz scolded the culprit with so much gentle- 
ness for having borrowed fifteen hundred francs 
that Maxime judged it an excellent occasion to 
complete the two thousand by confessing an 
imaginary loan. He did not foresee that he 
should be obliged to make a confession more 
disagreeable and less lucrative. The devout Mar- 
quise paid, but under the condition that the 
sinner should return to God in the prescribed 
form. However, it may be supposed that the 
repentance was not very lasting; for the notes 
paid by Madame de Bernaz had sisters, — sisters, 
too, which threatened to turn out badly. 

From that time forth this Christian mother 
deemed it advisable to secure for the young man 
the grace of a new sacrament. She brought to 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


15 


her way of thinking the head of the family, who, 
after a time given to reflections, summoned his 
son and addressed him in the following words : 

“ Monsieur, I did not exact that you live like 
a saint until the age when we usually marry in 
our family, hut neither did I expect to see you 
act as you have done. If you offend God, that 
lies between Him and you. If you insult our 
name by placing your signature upon notes that 
you know you cannot meet, that concerns me 
more directly. Your conduct has led me to take 
a resolution. I shall marry you.” 

Maxime drew himself up. It was not that he 
guessed the difficulties of the conjugal trials, or 
that he believed himself inferior to any trials 
whatever. But he foresaw his liberty lost, his 
good times at an end ; then the scenes, neuralgia, 
the lounge over which he ought to mount guard, 
the crying children — and what sort of a wife 
did they contemplate for him ? Probably some 
strait-laced, fright, who would rule him with a 
rod of iron. He mumbled, — 

“You find me quite surprised, father. It 
seems to me I am rather young to — to govern a 
household.” 

“ By Jove, who talks to you of governing any- 
thing ? A fine governor indeed ! Do not worry 
yourself; you will live as usual. Your rUe in 
the family will remain the same. Hothing at 
Bernaz will be changed, except that I shall have 


16 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


two children instead of one. Mademoiselle de 
Monestier is an angel of goodness, according to 
your uncle the Chevalier, and the idea of this 
marriage, by the way, comes from him. How- 
ever, he will talk to you himself about it. I 
have ordered the carriage ; we will go and call 
on him.’’ 

Five minutes later the father and son were 
driving over a little mountain road toward the 
dwelling of the Chevalier de Beauvoisim This 
nobleman, almost a septuagenarian, lived quite 
alone in a large, square house, from which was 
to be had the finest view in the country. The 
public profited but little from this advantage, 
for the old gentleman kept his gate rigorously 
closed, opening it only, and that none too eagerly, 
to his sister de Bernaz, his brother-in-law, and 
his nephew ; the latter, especially, seldom abused 
the privilege. He himself never went out ex- 
cept to attend mass each morning. He lived the 
life of a recluse, attended by two servants, a 
man and his wife, passing the evenings in read- 
ing, and the days in grafting his trees or in ar- 
ranging his library, according to the season of 
the year. The most charitable spoke of him as 
an eccentric, the others as a madman. Maxime, 
for good reasons, accused him of being a miser, 
though consoling himself with the thought that 
this considerable hoard, by the law of succes- 
sion, would one day be his. This prospect, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


17 


added to the virtues of the good man, assured 
him the well-marked condescension of the 
Bernaz couple, who consulted him on great 
occasions. The Chevalier, disliking idle words, 
entered without preamble into the subject. 

“It is Providence, not me, whom you must 
thank for this opportunity, my nephew. One 
of my friends, a holy priest, sometimes comes 
to share my solitude. He is the chaplain of a 
convent in Grenoble, where a young orphan, 
Chantal de Monestier, lives in retirement. She 
is a model of virtue and beauty. On one single 
point could there he any hesitation, — her means 
are only moderate. But your father considers 
that there are rare advantages to compensate for 
this shortcoming. I trust you may be worthy 
of the new blessing which Providence has in 
store for the family.” 

Though accustomed to his uncle’s homilies, 
Maxime had never heard any which personally 
interested him to the same degree. He opened 
his eyes, in which some astonishment and a little 
anguish were blended. Already something of 
the nuptial solemnity weighed upon him. Two 
hours before he had been in his room, smoking 
his pipe and drowsily thinking of the pleasures 
of his next excursion to the shores of the Rh6ne. 
And, behold, he is awakened to find himself 
half-married, in a room hung with religious en- 
gravings and enlivened by a death’s-head. The 
b 2* 


18 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


repulsion, instinctive in the human being, for 
the irrevocable, whatsoever it may be, threw him 
into rebellion. With a sort of anger, he ex- 
claimed, — 

“ All that is very fine. You talk of my family 
and of Providence, hut of me there is no question. 
I should like, if you please, to see something of 
this girl.” 

The old people agreed upon the advisability 
of a meeting, and a few days later Maxime and 
his father waited for an audience in the private 
parlour of the convent. All that passed from 
this time was like a dream to this young fellow 
who, until now treated like a child, was suddenly 
placed face to face with the gravest situation 
which can test the wisdom of man. The glance 
of the Superior thoroughly intimidated him ; it 
was one of those looks which seemed to see 
everything, though, to tell the truth, she saw 
merely a young man of medium height, with an 
unofiensive and rather distingue face, hut very 
gentle in appearance. His eyes cast down and 
bowing low, he was most sparing of his words, 
which were not brilliant when he did speak. 

As she had been told that he possessed a clever 
mind, the worthy woman put this silence to the 
account of modesty, as, in times gone by, the 
Marquise had put his low standing in school to 
the lack of emulation. After an uninteresting 
■conversation the Superior said, smilingly, — 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


19 


“We have a beautifal park; would it please 
you gentlemen to take a turn with me 

On a bench beneath a statue, “ The Mother 
of Seven Sorrows,’^ was seated a young girl 
dressed in black. On the approach of the vis- 
itors she closed her hook and rose. The nun 
said to the Marquis, — 

“I present to you my niece, Mademoiselle 
Chantal de Monestier.” 

For one hour these four persons strolled 
through the alleys. By the time the father and 
the son had returned to the hotel Maxime fancied 
himself madly in love, because he was trembling 
with a sort of nervousness; he had forgotten 
that he had trembled in the same way after his 
examinations. His father, seeing his agitation, 
said to him, — 

“ I suppose, now, you will no longer pose as a 
victim.” 

“Ho,” replied the young man, whose eyes 
were sparkling. “ If she will only accept me, I 
shall be very happy.” 

“ Oh, she will accept you. But, between our- 
selves, you made no effort to fascinate her. You 
walked on my heels as though you were afraid 
of being lost. Confound it ! under such circum- 
stances you might have strayed away a little. 
The fact is, my daughter-in-law is a beauty. 
Just the eyes of the St. Therese which hung in 
the parlour. Did you notice it ?” 


20 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


The young man nodded assent, even though 
he had remarked nothing in the personality of 
his future fiancee^ except that by her side he had 
lost his desire for certain excursions. 

Maxime went soon again. This time he was 
accompanied by his mother, who was charmed 
with the sweetness and docility of this young 
girl. As to the fine lover, he did not speak 
much more than in his first interview, but 
Chantal felt herself tremble beneath the look 
which he kept fixed upon her. She admitted 
to herself that never had the eyes of a man so 
agitated her; she was unable to discern their 
true significance. Perhaps, had she better com- 
prehended what was passing in Maxime’s mind, 
she would have shivered with repulsion. But it 
was impossible for her to understand the import 
of certain looks ; had her aunt not told her on 
the faith of the Scriptures, ‘‘ This young man 
is an angel of piety” ? 

However, as she offered some fiowers to the 
Marquise, the gallant, not without some adroit- 
ness, stole a rose, which he hid in his waistcoat. 
Mademoiselle de Monestier surprised the theft, 
and blushed; Maxime, finding himself discov- 
ered, likewise reddened. Both were persuaded 
from that moment that they felt a sentiment for 
each other. This was their only avowal. There 
was no opportunity for more. The distance be- 
tween Grenoble and Bernaz was so great as to 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


21 


require the spending of a night on the occasion 
of their visits, and neither the Marquis nor Mar- 
quise cared to sleep away from home. 'Nor was 
it proper that Maxime should enter alone a con- 
vent full of young girls. Soon the momentous 
question was put to Chantal, and, according to 
her aunt’s advice, who did not wish to leave any- 
thing to chance, she made a three days’ retreat, 
the purport of which we already know. 

She declared the next day, after having taken 
communion, that she was quite ready to marry 
Monsieur de Bernaz. As to Maxime, the first 
person who asked him if he wished to make this 
marriage was the Mayor; the second, an hour 
later, was the Chaplain of the convent. 


CHAPTEK III. 

For her bridal trip the young wife was obliged 
to content herself with the distance between 
Grenoble and Bernaz. She wore her wedding- 
dress, and the journey ended in the triumphal 
arrival at the chateau. The peasants gathered 
in the court, shouted their hurrahs and fired guns, 
while the bell in the little church rang merrily. 
Dancing, feasting, and illuminations followed, 
and all this outward joy was soon extinguished, 


22 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


as would be tbe first illusion of tbe young chate- 
laine. 

Indeed, if the trip had been short, she found 
upon arriving at the end more surprises than 
would have awaited her in a voyage to China. 
All she knew of her husband was what the 
Superior had said, — that he was a Christian of 
the old stock, and from the Marquise that he 
possessed a poetical nature, which, put together 
with the remembrance of the stolen rose, had 
been sufficient to render her dreamy. As can be 
seen, she was only a child, but, more serious still, 
she was an angel of trustfulness. She saw life 
as a parterre of roses in which each morning she 
would gather her harvest, while Maxime would 
sing on his lute. 

Alas! at the same time that the snowy veil 
glided from the head of the virgin the lute fell 
from the hands of the poet, without, as can be 
guessed, having sounded one single note. 

To young Bernaz the marriage he had just 
made was a bargain concluded with his family. 
They had given to him a woman, whom he had 
the right and duty to call his wife., on condition 
that he should renounce the desire of seeking 
other women, and would spend no more money. 
Thus, with the brutal logic of a stunted mind 
and with complete ignorance of the heart, he 
took her — as he would have taken a legal indem- 
nity. It was the first fault of his conjugal life. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


23 


and perhaps had he become a poet the next day, 
he might have made Chantal forget. But he 
contented himself by drifting into idleness so 
well that the poor young wife first experienced 
the disgust of surprise, then the melancholy of 
deception. Like many others she kept her sur- 
prise to herself, but after a few months she con- 
fided her deception to her mother-in-law. In her 
plainness of speech, often rendered cutting by 
conviction, she expressed her regret at seeing a 
man of Maxime’s age stretching himself in his 
arm-chair and yawning from morning till night. 

“Well, my dear, he is bored,’’ answered the 
Marquise, in a significant tone, which meant, 
“ You bore himJ’ Chantal understood, and with- 
out remarking the compliment she said, — 

“ But, really, he is not easy to amuse. I have 
tried to distract him with every subject of con- 
versation, — nothing interests him.” 

“My dear,” answered the mother, “you are 
not an idiot ; you must try to raise yourself to 
his level.” 

So once more poor Chantal believed her 
mother-in-law, and resolved to raise herself to 
the level of her husband. The education she 
had received was only that given to young girls 
at this period in a country convent. She thought 
to enlarge her ideas by means of the library at 
the chateau and asked the advice of Maxime, 
who burst out laughing. 


24 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


‘‘The library? I wish you joy of it. The 
only hooks you will find there are Rollin’s His- 
tory, some treatises on agriculture, and the 
Fathers of the Church. My mother has burned 
all the rest. But what in the devil are you 
going to do with all this rubbish ?” 

“ I thought that we might read them together 
— and that you might explain some things to 
me.” 

“ Bead as much as you choose, my dear, pro- 
vided you leave to me the choice of authors.” 

Chantal passed several hours for a few days 
reading aloud the novels her husband had gotten 
by stealth. Soon, however, she felt a revulsion 
against certain immoral platitudes; but what 
disgusted her more than all else was to see that 
finally Maxime was amused. With the voluptu- 
ous indolence of a pacha reduced to one odalisque, 
he fairly beamed with pleasure and grew tender. 
Henceforth under various pretexts the reading 
was abandoned. Chantal had measured the in- 
tellectual capacity of her husband. She no longer 
tried to draw nearer to him, and began to read 
in her own room, but not novels. She found an 
extreme pleasure — unvdlling to admit to herself 
that she also found a consolation — in these hours 
of solitary occupation. She saw little of her 
father- and mother-in-law except at meals. The 
Marquis had become a great agriculturist, pass- 
ing entire days in the fields. The Marquise from 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


25 


morning till niglit trotted from the kitchen to 
the poultry-yard, from the vegetable garden to 
the laundry, spreading terror everywhere. ITow, 
Chantal, in a zealous mood, had taken cooking 
lessons in the convent, and on several occasions 
had put in practice her knowledge by making 
jams in the laboratory of the infirmary. She 
brought a huge receipt book with her, and one 
day, disgusted with her idleness, she resolved to 
show her cleverness and entered the pantry, hook 
in hand, while her mother-in-law was giving 
some orders. 

“Do you find the cooking so poor, or the 
house so badly kept asked the Marquise in the 
tone of an ofifended queen. 

The servants present smiled vaguely, and Chan- 
tal understood that she must content herself with 
the role of a guest. This was one deception 
more. 

They received many visitors, for the family 
was celebrated for entertaining throughout the 
country. But these dinners, where she sat as a 
stranger without even the right of changing a 
carafe, were for the young wife a secret humili- 
ation, notwithstanding the fact that she was 
treated by her husband’s parents in public as a 
pretty, spoilt child. As for the guests, they sang 
her praises in the same tone in which they com- 
plimented each dish. To praise everything at 
Bernaz was obligatory ; the hosts, the house 
B 3 \ 


26 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


itself, the cooking, the wines, — all, even the oats 
dealt out to the visitors’ horses. !No one had ever 
failed to do so for twentj-five years. The enor- 
mous vanity of the Marquise was well known. 
But Chantal refrained from sharing this enthu- 
siam. If she did not smash the idols, at least 
she had the audacity to refuse them incense, too 
little of a diplomat to see how much this reserve 
irritated her mother-in-law. 

A graver motive of complaint arose; and 
Heaven knows if the Marquise, in her confiden- 
tial chats, did not make the most of it. After 
three years of marriage, there were no children, 
and the most remarkable thing was, that the one 
who showed the least impatience was Maxime 
himself. He would say, in the presence of his 
wife, with a coarse smile of good humour, — 

“ Ah, you know, to be a father at twenty-four, 
— indeed, it would have been a nuisance !” 

One day, with tears of joy, Chantal entered 
his room. For some time she had hoped, but 
had not dared to say anything, not being sure. 

“ How, I no longer fear that I am mistaken,” 
she exclaimed, enraptured. ‘‘ I live a new life, 
or rather, I commence to live. Up to now, 
what have I done in this world ?” 

She expected a burst of joy from her husband, 
but he became suddenly quite thoughtful, and, 
tossing his cigarette into the fireplace, said, — 

“ Well, my good times are finished !” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


27 


Chantal withdrew in silence. She did not 
weep, but between herself and her husband 
there was raised a wall of ice. 

The news spread through the country. When 
the happy man was congratulated, he grum- 
blingly replied, — 

“ Thanks, thanks ! Meanwhile, hurry and 
visit us while the house is still inhabitable.” 

The Marquise in her inmost heart exulted, too 
proud to let it be believed that she had ever 
doubted for the perpetuation of the Bernaz. 
Towards her daughter-in-law she adopted merely 
the indulgent attitude of the creditor who, after 
long patience, at last gives a full receipt for a 
debt discharged. In her Christian gratitude, as 
well as in the pride of approaching maternity, 
the young wife felt herself equally offended. 
Upon the pretext of her health she escaped from 
the commonplace congratulations of her neigh- 
bours, and retired more than ever to her apart- 
ment on the upper floor of the chateau, where 
she could enjoy a solitude her husband no longer 
desired to disturb. Her room, always kept in 
immaculate order, resembled in its severity a 
library and an oratory of a convent. But, for 
Chantal, this simple place was a fortress against 
the enemies of the outside world. In this 
Acropolis, this high city, she no longer met 
those false gods which so revolted her soul, — 
selflshness, pride, and insincerity, and to which 


28 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


flattery served as incense. There she found her 
books, her music, and needle-work begun for 
the poor. But especially there she found herself 
having a predilection for self-communing, fre- 
quently to be met with in finer natures. Alas ! 
this predilection often proves dangerous for those 
who must live in the world. Gradually her 
other occupations grew fatiguing, and were sup- 
planted by reading. Her tastes particularly led 
her to history and biography, which, by their 
deductions more or less artificial, agreed well 
with the indexible logic of her nature. On 
the white page of history the deeds of certain 
famous personages are drawn like the routes on 
an atlas. Everything goes by regular lines, and 
gives no idea of the thousands of obstacles to be 
met with. Often the victory of injustice stirred 
up anger in her heart. But at least these great 
men, judged and condemned without weak- 
ness by the historian, were no longer there to 
contend that justice should belong to them. 
Their silence was like an apology, — like a tri- 
umph of equity. How unlike what the young 
recluse heard when she descended one floor ! 
When Chantal grew weary with serious reading, 
she took up a volume of Dickens. Before the 
catastrophe in her family, and up to her twelfth 
year, she had had an English governess, and the 
two languages were equally familiar to her. So 
the days passed, one by one, in awaiting the hour 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


29 


which would make her forget all sadness. Per- 
haps this retirement into solitude may he counted 
as a fault against her. Those who shared her 
daily life committed a still greater fault by leaving 
her to it; hut this withdrawment served their 
purpose. Henceforth the plaster images re-, 
mained whole, triumphant, not even menaced. 

As for Maxime, he threw off his indolence 
and began to visit his neighbours, particularly the 
house of a public officer of the Valley of Graisi- 
vaudan, who was a great sportsman and the pos- 
sessor of a pretty wife. Ho doubt he judged that 
his approaching paternity conferred upon him 
emancipation, for he left the chateau without 
saying where he was going and when he would 
return. Sometimes he allowed himself to he 
kept all night. After one of these mysterious 
disappearances, as he alighted from his carriage 
at the door of the chateau, the Marquise met him 
wearing upon her face an expression of vexation. 

“ Oh, my son, where have you been ? You 
ought to have returned last night. What will 
the neighbours say ?” 

“Why, what is it? Has Chantal had her 
accouchement? I thought it would not take 
place until the last of the month ?” 

“ How can we ever know anything about her ? 
Come quickly. It is a hoy.” 

The husband a little shamefacedly kissed his 
wife, making an apology for his absence. 

3 * 


30 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ Ah/’ she said, gently, ‘‘ it is better so ; by 
this absence you will have only the pleasure, 
none of the ennui to remember.” 

This pleasure, however, seemed mixed with a 
slight embarrassment. Maxime looked with a 
sort of fear at the new-comer, whose little red 
face was buried in the depths of a cradle bor- 
rowed from some countrywoman. The layette 
ordered by the Marquise was late, or rather, to 
use ‘‘the language of the Court,” the young 
mother was in advance of her time. 

Surely no event of his life had given Maxime 
de Bernaz less trouble. But at the sight of his 
son, who slept like a traveller weary at the first 
stage of his journey, this premature father con- 
templated seriously changing his course of life. 
The assistants were looking at him, and he real- 
ised that he was expected to display some act of 
possession. So he knelt and kissed the strangely 
wrinkled little brow. The infant had the good 
taste not to pose this delicate question : “ From 
whence do you come, my father ?” 

The following days brought trouble in the 
Bernaz household. Chantal was in danger of 
dying. She recovered, however, hut had the 
hitter chagrin of being unable to nurse her baby. 
She had a caprice that the wet-nurse should sleep 
in her room, which called forth, much criticism 
from her mother-in-law, hut less censure from 
her husband. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 31 

But,” argued the Marquise, you will be 
awakened every time baby nurses.” 

“ True,” replied Cbantal, with a sad smile, “ it 
will be a little as though I nursed him myself.” 

In baptism the child received the name of 
Helion, after the Chevalier, who stood god-father. 
The name did not please the young wife and she 
tried to protest, hut was given to understand 
that she had no voice in the matter, and that it 
was wise to conciliate in favour of a god-son an 
uncle who possessed so fine a fortune. 

After her complete recovery she lived more 
alone than ever. During the day she had two 
delicious hours when the nurse took her meals. 
She shut herself in her room wfith her baby, 
and God alone knew what she whispered in the 
ear of her beloved angel and the caresses she 
showered on him. When she could not have 
him to herself, seemingly, she had ceased to care 
for him. All or nothing ! these words summed 
up her nature, as well as explained, perhaps, the 
most serious events of her life. When the Mar- 
quise with the airs of a queen regent held her 
grandson in her arms, Chantal looked away or 
left the room. And if by chance some confi- 
dante was there, the grandmother would com- 
plainingly remark, The young women of to- 
day have such a peculiar way of understanding 
maternity !” 

Perhaps, could Chantal have been advised by 


32 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


a person of experience, she might have under- 
stood maternity, if not better, certainly in an- 
other way. She would have been able to foresee 
its difficulties, its perils, its sorrows, and even, 
alas! its deceptions. Bat she was mistaken in 
maternity, even as she had been deceived in 
marriage. She believed that three virtues suf- 
ficed to secure happiness to the wife and mother, 
— devotion, love, fidelity; it was her nature to 
confound that which is with that which ought to 
he. Her astonishment would have been great 
had some one told her that cleverness is necessary 
in life, such as men have made it, to perfect the 
workings of the most natural sentiments and 
the most holy duties. 

In the middle of the year 1870, for her as well 
as for many others, an interruption occurred in 
the even tenor of life. At the time her child 
was lisping his first syllables war broke out. 
Maxime went with his companions to perform 
his duties ; the hour of parting came, and the 
noble emotions of this momentous trial almost 
made the wife forget the sorrows and the disas- 
ters of past years, — unfortunately, he was going 
away. It was Chantafis destiny that her enthu- 
siasms in regard to her husband should be of 
short duration. She withdrew within herself 
and was plunged in a painful anxiety, which she 
dissembled too well, perhaps ; for her instinct 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


33 


made her conceal all her sufferings in her own 
heart. More than ever she kept in her own 
room, while her mother-in-law raced around the 
country, mopping away her tears, reading the 
letters, quite military in their conciseness, which 
Maxime wrote from Paris, where he was prepared 
to sustain the Siege. 

The complete hesiegement put an end to the 
correspondence ; letters arrived rarely, and then 
only by balloons. To have seen the Marquise 
one would have thought that Savoy had furnished 
but one single defender, and that this hero was 
her son. She could talk only of Maxime and 
herself, not forgetting to add, How fortunate 
it is to be like my daughter-in-law ! But, after 
all, it is better to suffer — and to have a heart.” 

The gates of Paris were scarcely opened when 
Maxime was ordered home convalescent. He 
came out of the war without a scratch, but sick 
from weakness, naturally superinduced by priva- 
tions and fatigue. Never did a hero return home 
in a more diabolical humour ; everyone had to 
suffer for it, but chiefly his wife, who attended 
him with the patience of an angel. When the 
young man was better he had a private inter- 
view with his father, and made known a piece of 
news such as in times gone by had raised ter- 
rible storms. He had contracted some debts of 
honour in Paris. The old Bernaz was overjoyed 
at his son’s recovery, and that he had brought 


34 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


home the stripes of an officer. But when he 
heard this news, he quickly repressed a move- 
ment of annoyance. 

‘‘My poor lieutenant,’’ said he, “if ever a 
debt can be called one of honour, it is that which 
a soldier contracts to keep himself from starving. 
Have I not read that it was necessary to pay ten 
francs after the Siege merely to have a good 
rat ?” 

Everything tended to show that the young 
soldier had found elsewhere than in his plate 
expensive rodents, when the moment came to 
name the sum. It was something like twenty 
thousand francs. The Marquis paled. He wished 
to remonstrate, to ask some questions, but this 
time the son braved the storm. 

“It was not I, indeed,” said Maxim e, looking 
straight at his father, “who begged for this 
pleasure excursion. I tried, like many others, 
to distract myself. Moreover, I am tired of 
receiving an allowance doled out to me louis 
by louis like a school-boy who pockets his 
weekly sous.” 

“Very well. Monsieur,” said the old man, 
gravely. “ I will only ask one thing. Can you 
give me your word of honour that the sum 
named is exact, and if really they are debts of 
honour ?” 

Maxime swore upon the name of Bernaz, and, 
without a word, his father left the room. But, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


35 


alone with his wife in the evening, the old noble- 
man told of his grievous discovery, and, with a 
sigh, said, “I have just met with the greatest 
deception of my life.’’ The next day Dubigeon 
and the Marquis were closeted together, and 
from that time, neither in the family circle nor 
in speaking with strangers, did the Marquis ever 
allude to the military exploits of Maxime. Life 
resumed its regularity, if not its peace of former 
days. Between these persons, who, more or less, 
had each a hidden grudge against the other, 
scenes broke out on the slightest provocation. 
In the presence of strangers all seemed still an 
earthly paradise, but when they were alone 
words became freer, even those of Chantal. 
The years of experience had rendered her less 
timid, and she would cut short all the entangle- 
ment of mutual reproach by a curt, sharp, and 
convincing speech. Silenced for so long a time, 
the voice of Justice spoke ; hut, alas ! she spoke 
too late. These outbursts at first caused pro- 
digious astonishment, especially to the Marquise, 
who heard from the mouth of this child “ with- 
out will or opinion” some truths never told to 
her before. She understood then how she had 
been mistaken in Chantal. But rather than admit 
an error or a failure she would have endured a 
thousand deaths. 

Thus the world knew nothing of this change, 
and continued to see in the young wife only a 


36 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


spotless lamb (tbis was indeed true), but, alas ! a 
lamb incapable of feeling profoundly or acting 
energetically. This was an opinion they would 
be compelled to change in the course of time. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Thus several months passed. The old Bernaz, 
up to now well preserved, appeared suddenly to 
age. Maxime when he was at home slept more 
and more in his arm-chair, and when he did 
go out, his absences grew longer and longer. 
Chantal felt a great lassitude from all these 
struggles, and now shut herself in her room, 
not from a love of solitude, but from a need of 
moral repose. 

Her son, the picture of health, was growing 
big and noisy; but the same woman who had 
nursed him continued in charge with unlimited 
devotion. They remained for long hours in the 
open air, one occupied with her knitting, the 
other with building his hills of sand, or, at least, 
so Chantal thought, who, perhaps, read a little 
too much herself. But one day her mother-in- 
law gave her a charming surprise. At the end 
of a dinner when some guests were present, 
little Helion, then in his fourth year, repeated a 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


37 


fable and said tbe greater part of the alphabet. 
Everyone poured out his admiration in a shower 
of compliments, naturally addressed to the grand- 
mother. 

“Ah, madame, he will be like his father. 
What precocity ! How do you manage to obtain 
such wonderful feats ? Indeed, it is a specialty 
in your family.” 

Chantal said nothing, but for the first time 
since the birth of her son she felt a peculiar 
anguish tighten her heart. Was it from the 
words she had just heard, “ he will be like his 
father,” or was it from the regret for those hours 
of supreme joy which she had passed prostrate, 
kneeling before her cherub, who could not talk, 
but who was all her own ? What could she do 
now? Blame her mother-in-law because she 
continued to exercise her peculiar gift for pre- 
cocious training, or take upon her own shoulders 
the continuation of this task? She was com- 
pelled to admit that she would not have the 
courage to torture her child by hammering “ the 
Wolf and the Lamb” into his poor little brain. 
So Helion followed the career he had brilliantly 
begun. Chantal, however, wished to do her 
share, and was not the less useful in becoming 
his English teacher. Soon she had the delight 
of exchanging some phrases in a language 
understood by themselves alone, which in the 
Marquise’s eyes was an infringement on her 
4 


38 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


prerogatives. She resented this as a vengeance 
of her daughter-in-law. At five years of age 
the little fellow executed a piece on the piano 
before an audience, and it was quite remarkable 
how he appreciated already the fiattery of suc- 
cess. Among his other precocious qualities he 
showed a noticeable appetite for praise, and he 
particularly understood that he owed his harvest 
of bravos to his grandmother. Some one having 
insinuated that she would spoil her grandson, 
she exclaimed, — 

“I? Why, I never so much as give him a 
sugar-plum !” 

She had given him something more dangerous, 
even for grown-up people : she gave him the 
defect of vanity. When Chantal had succeeded 
in seizing and carrying him off to her room, he 
would suddenly look at the clock, for he had 
long known how to tell time, and exclaim, 
‘‘ Grandmamma is waiting to give me a lesson !” 

Even while Chantahs arms were still open the 
boy had escaped, and these poor arms were left 
empty, though scarcely more so than her own 
existence. Her son was drifting away from her ; 
her husband no longer lived for her, though, to 
tell the truth, he never had. When Maxime 
remained at Bernaz he kept his own room, say- 
ing that if he must die of ennui, he at least 
would die tranquilly. When he was in a paternal 
mood his son amused him like a well-trained 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


39 


animal, and to the boy the child of a larger 
growth showed an nnheard-of weakness. But 
if Helion disturbed him when he was in a 
morose humour he would go to the other ex- 
treme, and swear the way they spoiled his son 
was intolerable. Violent scenes were sure to 
follow. 

When he had thus carried on his shoulders 
the heavy load of paternity for nine years, 
Maxime became anxious to unburden himself, 
and spoke of a school. For once the mother and 
grandmother were unanimous in their opinions. 
This departure would render them desolate. 
Finally, however, they were resigned, one for 
the sake of reestablishing peace in the “para- 
dise” of the family circle, the other for a motive 
which she confided to the Chevalier, who pos- 
sessed all her confidence : “I prefer to separate 
myself from my son rather than ever to see the 
day come when he will hate his father.” 

As for the Marquis, he scarcely seemed to 
notice the child’s departure. He had changed 
much, and his mind had begun to weaken, but 
he guarded none the less religiously his business 
secrets. Nevertheless, unpleasant rumours cir- 
culated in regard to the condition of his fortune, 
and, strange to relate, no one propagated them 
more willingly than Maxime. He used to say 
to any ready listener, — 

“I am dying of ennui at Bernaz in antici- 


40 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


pation of dying of hunger later on. God knows 
what my father will leave after him. If only 
he had permitted me to work or take up some 
career when I was younger ! How, what can I 
do in a province like ours ? What I need is to 
go to Paris. There an active, intelligent man 
can make a fortune.” 

Ever since the Siege the name of Paris had 
been constantly on his lips, but still ofbener in 
his thoughts. Among his acquaintances and 
comrades he was looked upon as an eccentric and 
a bore. Besides, visitors found less amusement 
than formerly at the Bernaz house. They still 
continued to go there, hut their admiration was 
not chaunted in the same key, for to-day there 
were wandering around the chateau two sad, 
dark shadows, — old age and poverty. They 
began to treat the Marquise as an ordinary 
woman, and offered her advice. About this 
time she showed the first symptoms of a melan- 
cholia which secretly preyed upon her. She 
still kept the keys, however, and left Chantal to 
her reading; she intended to die in harness. 
H6lion during this time belonged more to his 
mother, who each month repaired to Chamhery 
to pass the half-holiday with him. She tried to 
find him some distractions compatible with the 
severest economy. Maxime was not rich and 
disliked to spend money for others. 

The^years passed by, Helion’s reports continued 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


41 


good, for lie was gentle and easy to manage ; but 
gradually he fell from the first to below the 
middle rank. The time approached for him to 
decide upon a career. They earnestly urged him 
to take some decision, but with about as much 
success as though it had been a question of select- 
ing his burial-place. It was finally resolved in 
the family tribunal that he should adopt a mili- 
tary career. One voice only was raised in ob- 
jection. The Chevalier de Beauvoisin did not 
consider the salvation of souls assured in a regi- 
ment since the suppression of chaplains. Con- 
sequently there had been a scene between the 
two brothers-in-law, but the army triumphed. 
Helion’s one thought was of going to Saint 
Cyr. 

The year following the Marquis de Bernaz 
died suddenly. It was like a signal for the be- 
ginning of family catastrophes. The dead man’s 
lips could no longer guard the fatal secret. In 
the full light of day the breach made in his 
fortune was manifest. After all debts were paid 
there remained only one-third of the entire estate. 
When Dubigeon informed Maxime of this, he 
answered, with the rancorous bitterness of the 
disappointed heir, — 

‘‘ My father had a mania for industrial opera- 
tions. His only success was in mortgaging his 
lands.” 

The old nobleman’s friend with difficulty re- 
4 * 


42 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


strained an expression of indignation, but he 
could not keep from answering, — 

Perhaps among these mortgaged deeds there 
is one for which you will not reproach him. It 
is filed as Humber 1. Be so kind as to note the 
sum and date: WfiOO francs ^ May^ 1871. You 
probably have not forgotten — the Siege of Paris.’’ 

Hever again, or at least in the presence of 
Dubigeon, did Maxime dare to criticise his 
father’s transactions. The first explosion of 
anger over, he fell into despondency, and showed 
that he counted upon leaving to others all the 
effort at rescue. The old Marquise, overturned 
from her not very solid throne, upon which for 
so many years she had sat in pride, did not seem 
likely to survive long her defeat. The Chevalier 
increased his prayers and shut himself more than 
ever in his dwelling, where he refused to be dis- 
turbed. All the gloomy consultations, the in- 
ventory, lugubrious as the call of the dead the 
day after a battle, were left to Chantal, who, by 
her cool-headedness and intelligence, eternally 
won Dubigeon’s esteem. 

But the conclusion was clear : Bernaz must be 
sold. In telling this to Maxime, Chantal took 
every precaution and became almost tender. 
But she was astonished to see that at her first 
word he accepted the idea with a sort of joy. In 
spite of everything, however, religiously faithful 
to the precept of Christian charity, she added, — 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


43 


“ Let us do our utmost that your mother may 
finish her days in this house which she has loved 
so much. We must obtain a truce; alas ! it will 
not he for long.’^ 

This truce between death and ruin lasted less 
than a year. Up to her last day the old Mar- 
quise wandered like a shadow through the cha- 
teau, depleted of servants and devoid of visitors. 
One morning, feeling unable to leave her bed, 
she sent for her daughter-in-law. 

“It is finished,” said she. “You can com- 
mand now. You are happy at last, I suppose, to 
have the keys at your belt.” 

The young woman answered, “Mother, do 
you not think the time has come to cease hating 
me ?” 

As though she had not heard, the Dowager 
Marquise turned her face to the wall, and opened 
her lips only to her confessor a few hours later. 
She expired at sunset, and the cure of the vil- 
lage declared that she had died like a saint. It 
was this woman’s fate to enjoy eulogy, a little 
cheaply obtained, even to her grave. 

The chateau sold, the debts paid, Maxime was 
master of a fortune rather small, which invested 
with care would give to the family an appar- 
ent ease. Dubigeon proposed some securities 
that Maxime could sleep on. But the Marquis 
passed suddenly from the rdle of a sluggard 
king to an autocrat, and replied in a curt tone, — 


44 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“We will see later on. Keep the funds until 
further orders.” 

It was necessary, however, to move and find 
a more modest dwelling. Chantal proposed a 
small house well situated on the outskirts of the 
town, where H4lion could pursue his studies. 
The proposition was not even discussed. Max- 
ime had his plan, and the hour had come to 
make it known. 

“My dear Chantal,” said he, “for several 
years I have reflected a great deal on the future, 
for I saw where we were drifting. I am not so 
stupid as some people would like to think. It 
is true that I have never done any work with my 
ten fingers, hut whose fault is that ? I can, and 
I will work now. Besides, what could we do 
with the three hundred thousand francs which 
did not have time to melt in my father’s hands ? 
We would have just enough to eat, provided you 
did the cooking yourself.” 

“ I am ready,” replied Chantal. 

“ Yes, my dear, you are ready to do the cook- 
ing, but I am not ready to eat. §' At the age of 
forty-five a man is too young to bury himself 
with marmots. I repeat, I wish to work. But 
there is something else. You are not fool enough 
to believe that the good Abbes of Chambery can 
have Helion admitted to Saint Cyr ?” 

“ Great heavens !” cried Chantal. “ What do 
you think of doing with Helion ?” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT, 


45 


To make a fine officer of him ; hut we must 
look for the means to do so. Understand, there 
is but one city where my fortune can be made, — 
that is Paris. There I shall be able to enter 
into some business transaction wffiere honourable 
names are sought after. At the same time I 
shall establish Helion in a good college where he 
will be sure of his examinations.” 

“I cannot tell you how absolutely terrifying 
your idea is to me. You were saying that I 
should be obliged to do the cooking in the prov- 
ince ; to what straits shall I then be reduced in 
Paris ?” 

‘‘ I have so well foreseen your objection, my 
dear, that I intend to start with Helion, to serve 
as a sort of scout. As soon as I have found a 
suitable situation I wnll let you know, and you 
can come and join us.” 

“ You forget that I have no shelter in Savoy.” 

“ I forget nothing,” replied Maxime, who was 
as firm as a rock. “ I have seen our uncle Beau- 
voisin, and he has agreed to receive you pro- 
visionally. But what a revolution in his habits 
of life ! why, he adores you !” 

The young Marquis did not expatiate upon the 
cleverness nor the insistance he had employed to 
overcome this old man, whose mind at times w^as 
weak. The change in Maxime since his father’s 
death was prodigious. It might be said that his 
wings had grown from the moment the cage 


46 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


door had been opened. He foresaw the future, 
formed plans ; he had an answer ready for every 
emergency. But the most curious of all — and 
Chantal soon experienced it — was the fierce, in- 
satiable will which had awakened in him when 
the moment came to enjoy life, — to fiy towards 
that Paris which had so intoxicated him with its 
seductions, even through the dark mourning of 
the Siege. 

Poor Chantal had vainly pleaded, wept, and 
urged her authority as a mother. She felt that 
she was striking her head against a granite wall. 
Then for the first time she spoke her mind, re- 
vealing her sufierings, telling the truth to the 
living and to the dead. She prophesied the ship- 
wreck on the Parisian ocean which awaited this 
narrow-minded man who had passed two-thirds 
of his life in a shameful idleness. Without re- 
plying, Maxime left the room and slammed the 
door with so much violence that he made the 
very walls tremble. At this moment he almost 
hated his wife. Two weeks later they quitted 
Bernaz; Chantal was installed at her uncle’s, 
Helion placed in a large college in Paris. As to 
Maxime, he awaited the opportunity of Fortune. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


47 


CHAPTER Y. 

One rainy day in tlie montli of November, 
1887, an omnibus complei began the inter- 
minable ascent of the Rue de Clichy. At the 
steepest point one of the horses fell upon the 
slippery stones. This too common incident 
caused scarcely any emotion in the interior of 
the vehicle. In Paris one becomes hardened to 
falls of every sort. Quite five minutes had 
elapsed, however, before the huge omnibus 
moved once more; some passengers, more im- 
patient than the others, or else because they 
were near their homes, got out, mumbling a 
plaintive resignation. The rain had held up for 
a few minutes. A middle-aged man of medium 
height, dressed like a provincial, mechanically 
left his place because his neighbours had set the 
example. While he hesitated, lost among the 
crowd of hadauds, some one called out in a curt 
voice, — 

‘‘ Monsieur, you have forgotten your um- 
brella.” 

‘‘ Oh, I beg your pardon,” answered the dis- 
trait individual, as though his carelessness had 
caused some injury to the finder of his property. 

Doffing his hat, he stood bareheaded while he 


48 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


regained possession of his umbrella, becoming 
hopelessly entangled in bis exaggerated thanks. 
This old-fashioned politeness caused the other 
man to smile, — a smile, however, which was only 
perceptible in his black eyes. A heavy heard 
and moustache, already gray, hid his mouth and 
half his face. His calm physiognomy, energetic 
hut concentrated, denoted observation and prac- 
tical intelligence. He seemed rather made for 
the purpose of finding other people’s umbrellas 
than for losing his own. If there was anything 
distinguishing in his look it was not hesitation, 
which, on the contrary, was betrayed in the most 
insignificant gesture of the grateful passenger. 
The latter walked beside his benefactor on the 
pavement. He searched for a phrase, but 
searched in vain ; he was evidently one of those 
beings who do not know how to leave either a 
salon or the most ordinary interlocutor. Fi- 
nally he gave utterance to this judicious re- 
mark : 

“ The unfortunate omnibus horses have a hard 
time in winter.” 

^‘Yes,” replied the gray-bearded man. ‘Mn 
winter there are the slippery streets to contend 
with, but in summer they drop down dead from 
heat. By force of seeing them fall and die, per- 
haps, the company will come to the mechani- 
cal motors.” 

‘‘ Mechanical motors ! That is true. Monsieur ; 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


49 


they would be a great advantage. But they were 
refused because of their cost.” 

The mechanical motor partisan measured his 
companion with a mocking look. 

“ Perhaps you are a stockholder of the omni- 
bus line ?” he asked. 

“ Oh, no, Monsieur ; I am not a stockholder 
in anything.” 

‘‘ Well, then, what does it matter to you what 
it costs ? What it does matter to you is not to 
he twenty minutes in ascending the hill of the 
Bue Clichy, which is seven hundred metres long. 
In San Francisco the street cars climb at full 
speed hills twice as high as this. True, they are 
not dragged by horses.” 

“ You know America ?” asked the champion 
of horseflesh, growing interested. 

‘‘Yes, Monsieur, and I assure you the Amer- 
ican public would not consent to be so badly 
transported, or rather, not transported at all, for 
the sole reason that it costs too much to do it 
properly. But you Frenchmen give your money 
to the companies as you formerly gave it to an 
absolute monarch, and you are highly flattered 
because they are so kind as to accept it.” 

“ How true that is. Monsieur ! and what an 
advantage the man who has travelled possesses 
over other men !” 

“Yes, the advantage of passing for a fool, for 
a charletan from Utopia. I ofler to replace by a 
c d 5 


50 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


machine, noiseless, without smoke, without wast- 
ing coal, these poor worn-out hacks, which leave 
one in a puddle at the steepest grade. But the 
moment I promulgate my idea, everyone smiles 
and buttons up his pockets.” 

“ The public is accustomed to routine.” 

“No doubt. But why is it accustomed to 
routine ? Because it is stupid. Put a quart of 
oats beneath the nose of an ass, he wall turn his 
head defiantly away : he has never seen oats. 
The public are like the ass, especially the Paris- 
ian public.” 

The gray-bearded man spoke very loudly, 
paying no attention to the fact that a score of 
Parisians heard him, which caused a slight un- 
comfortable feeling to his auditor, whom my 
reader has already recognized as Maxime. For 
two months he had been passing his Parisian no- 
vitiate, after, by a heroic decision, having cut the 
tie which had for forty-five years kept him in 
the mountains. He was among the number of 
credulous ones upon whom the “ Ville Lumiere” 
makes an impression. For two months he had 
brushed against edifices which enclosed glories 
of all sorts. He imbibed the air charged with 
witticisms, which in days gone by only came to 
him in the columns of his “ Figaro,” for so long 
obtained by stealth ; witticisms he had not once 
heard, to tell the truth. When he skirted the 
fa9ades of certain buildings, he said to himself, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


51 


“ There is wit behind these walls.’’ And behold, 
here was a stranger quitting an omnibus in dis- 
tress, who in the street was loudly comparing 
the Parisians to asses. Who was this- plainly- 
dressed man? And what if, by chance, he 
should he right? Maxime in selling Bernaz 
had burned his ships. There was nothing to 
take him hack there. He must now count upon 
Paris and the Parisians. “ Asses” this unknown 
thinker had called them. Courageous he was, 
most assuredly. 

Maxime never discussed the opinions of others. 
He imposed his own when he had the power. 
In the contrary case he beat a retreat before his 
interlocutor, whether convinced or not. That 
is what he did in this circumstance, and gave a 
complacent laugh which dispensed with a reply. 
Meanwhile his companion walked very quickly, 
and the ascent, a little stiff, left him breathless. 
The stranger, finding that he listened, continued 
to develop his idea. Indeed, persons less easily 
astonished than Maxime could not have denied 
that he possessed an original mind, a strong 
intelligence, and an imposing way of talking. 
The stranger spoke, Maxime listened, and so 
they crossed the outer boulevard and entered a 
street of an unprepossessing appearance. The 
speaker stopped before a more than modest 
house, and, touching his hat with his two fingers, 
was on the point of leaving his chance acquaint- 


52 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ance to follow liis own business. Suddenly, as 
though struck by an idea, he swept Maxime with 
a strange magnetic look, then asked, in an almost 
caressing voice, — 

Should you like to come and see my engine ?” 

The Marquis entered, growing confused in his 
politeness. Twenty steps of a carpeted stairway 
rendered much more striking the exquisite 
cleanliness of a small lodging, comfortable but 
without any appearance of luxury. They passed 
quickly through two rooms to reach the kitchen. 
Its only furniture was a queer, shapeless, and 
complicated object, in appearance like a com- 
bination of a gas-metre and a clothes-boiler. 
Hanging on the wall was a certificate to one 
Antonin Fischel, Civil Engineer. 

“ That saves me the necessity of introducing 
myself,” said the inventor, pointing to his di- 
ploma. “But before showing you my secrets, 
allow me to inquire the name of the gentleman 
who is so kind as to be interested in them.” 

Maxime hastily found his card-case and took 
out a card. Had he possessed a passport, he 
would have exhibited it with the same alacrity 
as at the post-ofiice to receive money.. "Was he 
not about to hold in his hand the secret, — the 
fortune of Fischel ? On reading the card, there 
was a fiash in the latter’s eyes. Without per- 
mitting anything to be noticed, however, he 
asked this question : 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


53 


“ Are you acquainted with physics, mechanics, 
and chemistry 

‘‘Not the least in the world,” replied Bernaz. 
Like many provincials he was sometimes astute, 
and he thought, “ If he knows that I have passed 
my examinations he will hesitate to show me his 
engine.” 

“ At least, you know what coal-gas is ?” con- 
tinued the inventor. 

“ Yes ; it is the escaped gas which blows up 
mines.” 

“Exactly, Monsieur le Marquis. This same 
gas which can shake mountains can also raise a 
piston. There is my idea. I produce coal-gas 
which costs much less than steam. I cause an 
explosion in my cylinder, and the wheel turns. 
The rest you will see.” 

Fischel had already lighted a charcoal lamp, 
which he placed in the apparatus. They waited 
a few minutes in profound silence, then, when 
all was ready, the inventor turned on an electric 
current and threw the wheel in motion. It con- 
tinued to revolve hy itself, to Maxime’s great 
admiration. In the cylinder was heard a little 
puffing noise like an old man’s cough. After 
several revolutions the current was broken, and 
everything stopped. 

“ There,” concluded Fischel, with a great calm, 
“ that is a rough sketch. But at least you have 
seen the wheel turn.” 


5 * 


64 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Visibly moved, the Marquis, after a short si- 
lence, said, — 

“ You think that your engine will run tram- 
ways 

“Without doubt, as well as trains, factories, 
everything. I spend twenty centimes on this, and 
your dear old steam-boiler costs one franc. Do 
you see the result for war as well as for peace ? 
once the store-room is full the cruiser can keep 
on the high seas for six months.” 

“ The devil !” exclaimed Maxime, “ and what 
will become of the coal companies ?” 

“ They will suffer,” answered the inventor, 
coldly. “But remember, please, that the coal- 
mines would soon become exhausted if they hold 
to the old system. What has been the progress 
of the last fifty years ? Your steamers go to 
iTew York in one week instead of fifteen days, 
but in the crossing instead of five hundred tons 
of coal they burn three thousand. That’s fine 
progress, isn’t it ?” 

“ And you tell me that your invention has been 
rejected ?” 

“ The great capitalists of to-day who govern 
the world are frightened by it. Without men- 
tioning the coal companies, count the thousands 
of millions which will be required for the mere 
changing of the railroad and steamboat system ; 
for, once my system is known, the original ma- 
terial is only so much old iron.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


65 


‘‘ What a fortune for you !” 

“ Oh, I do not care for wealth. What in- 
terests me above everything else is the important 
strides which civilisation will make. Then comes 
in the social question. In exchange for a few 
louis given to me by workingmen from their 
savings I will give back one million. So the 
great problem of a better division of wealth is 
realised. What do you think of it, Monsieur le 
Marquis 

Bernaz had listened with astonishment and 
found nothing to say. Judging that the dose 
was sufficiently strong for once, the inventor 
feigned an engagement and showed that the 
interview was at an end. He only added, — 

“ I trust I can count upon the absolute discre- 
tion of a man of honour.” 

Maxime swore silence, and in exchange for 
this promise he received permission to come 
again. Then he found himself quite alone in 
the street already dark, dizzy with all he had 
just heard. He had a vague fear of falling on 
the slippery pavement. What new, original, and 
unknown ideas, so out of the ordinary run! 
But there was something more than mere words 
and ideas. “I have seen the wheel turn,” he 
thought proudly, feeling impressed and quite 
another man. And at this moment he elbowed 
with a sort of compassionate pity this Parisian 
crowd lost in the quicksands of routine.” 


56 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


CHAPTER YL 

The visit to the inventor’s house had been 
made on a Saturday. The next afternoon, being 
a half holiday, Helion spent with his father. 
The advent of those hours of liberty, it must be 
acknowledged, caused the young man very little 
enthusiasm; not that he was lacking in filial 
affection, but the Marquis did not possess the 
talent of concealing that he was bored even 
while performing his paternal duties. From his 
first walk in Paris, Helion recognised the fact 
that his father walked with him merely for the 
sake of walking; that he was an inconvenience, 
and that the hours he spent by his side seemed 
long to the Marquis. 

Each Sunday the conversation opened by this 
question, sure to create a storm : Well, how do 
you stand in your class to-day Of course, his 
standing was not better in Paris than it had been 
in the province. But there Helion’s reports had 
been made to his mother, and Chantal, resigned 
to deception, tired of constantly complaining, did 
not prolong her expostulations. On the contrary, 
Maxime, nervous and gloomy, continued his 
scoldings for hours with such lugubrious pre- 
dictions as would have discouraged a stronger- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


57 


minded boy than his son. If, however, he was 
generous with his reproaches, he was most 
penurious with his rewards on the rare occasions 
when they were merited. During his holidays 
Helion’s pleasures rarely exceeded those which 
were gratuitous. To have heard Maxime one 
would have thought he cared for neither concerts, 
theatres, nor races. Occasionally, however, he 
forgot himself and in his conversation showed 
that he was not a stranger to these diversions. 
The young man soon understood that his father 
was not averse to amusements, hut that he pre- 
ferred to have them alone. As an anticipated 
reply to any objection the Marquis every Sunday 
gave utterance to the same complaint, — 

“ How ruinous are these preparatory courses ! 
I spend more money on you than I do on myself.” 

One day Helion could not resist saying, 
“ "Why did you not leave me in Savoy, then ?” 

On the whole the father and son both saw 
the arrival of the holiday with an almost equal 
ennui. But on the next day after his meeting 
with Fischel, Maxime appeared already a changed 
man. 

“Ah, here you are, my boy!” he exclaimed, 
on seeing his son. “ What can we do ? it rains. 
Suppose we go to a matinee.” 

Helion could not believe his ears, and naively 
asked, “You have had tickets given to you?” 
The seats were duly paid for at the box-office. 


58 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Helion received more than a louis’ worth of pleas- 
ure, though his father scarcely deigned to smile. 
Already he was posing as a serious man. When 
the performance was over and they stood waiting 
in the midst of a crowd for their turn at the 
omnibus bureau, Maxime grumbled, recalling 
Fischel’s vigorous invectives, — 

You see them, these Parisians ? They take 
it as a matter of course to wait the good pleasure 
of this monopoly. Why should I be forced to 
lose my time, I who pay to gain it ? Why are 
there so few omnibuses on the line 

“ No doubt because they lack horses. I have 

heard they keep fifteen thousand ’’ 

“Ah! you are already like everybody else. 
Caught in the routine. Horses! Why should 
there be horses ? Do they use horses in America ? 
But the Parisian is so stupid. For an entire 
century he will take his number for the privilege 
— of standing in a line. For an entire century 
he will wear himself out — in climbing steps, 
instead of saying, ‘ I insist upon having an ele- 
vator.’ ” 

Maxime spoke with animation, in a very loud 
voice, pleased to notice that two or three people 
were listening. Then he ventured the simile 
which he had heard, — the ass that was afraid of 
the oats. And, as on the preceding day, the 
crowd bent their heads. 

“It is easy to see that we are no longer at 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 59 

Bernaz,” said Helion, who had never heard his 
father speak so long and so well. 

“ My dear boy/’ replied Maxime, lowering his 
voice, “it is not at the bottom of the mountains 
that one learns how to think. But do not imagine 
that it is for my pleasure that I have come to the 
Capital. I wish to work to give you hack a for- 
tune, and I shall, notwithstanding what — what 
certain persons say.” 

“ My poor father !” said Helion, not caring to 
ask who these certain persons were. 

“Ah!” replied the great thinker, “to work 
is nothing. But you do not know what it is to 
live without a friend. How happy you are, for 
you do not lack comrades. But I lead the life 
of a Chartreuse monk. You see that I am denied 
everything, or rather, you do not see. When I 
am alone my cooking is soon done.” 

On hearing these words, pronounced with a 
restrained bitterness, the young man said to 
himself, “ In the future I must not count upon 
many matinees.” 

The dinner was not so silent as usual, nor did 
Helion have to submit to either questions or re- 
proaches. But instead he was forced to listen to 
much philosophy with many new ideas, some- 
times tainted with Socialism ; in one word, all 
Fischel. But the hour came for Helion to return 
to college, and, as a conclusion to the salutary 
conversation of the day, the Marquis added, 


60 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“Go, work, and become a practical man; the 
rest is nothing.” 

“ And what is a practical man, father ?” 

This question, posed without the faintest idea 
of maliciousness, was none the less embarrassing. 

“ Hum,” stammered his father. “ A practical 

man, — it is — a ” Then suddenly seized with 

an idea, “ Perhaps I shall be able to show you 
one next Sunday.” 

Helion was just on the point of leaving to take 
the omnibus under the surveillance of the old 
servant, as the Marquis had soon allowed him- 
self to be replaced in this duty. "When he re- 
turned, striking his forehead, he said, “ I forgot 
to read you what my mother wrote.” 

Standing, he read these lines : “ ISTothing from 
you, my darling boy, this week! Why? Your 
letters are my only pleasure in your uncle’s house, 
w^here pleasure is not to be found, as you know. 
Besides, how could I be happy away from you 
and your father ? I count the days which will 
separate us, or rather, I cannot count them, see- 
ing they are unknown. How I long to come 
and join you! I continue well, though the 
Chevalier pretends he can see me grow thin. 
His taste for society does not increase, so I have 
no news, not even of you, naughty boy. If you 
love me write oftener, if only two lines, since 
your duties take all your minutes. But, my dear, 
bring a little sunshine to your mother’s heart. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


61 


That is likewise a duty, I assure you. Be good, 
pray, and work. How I long to be in the place 
of your father, who will embrace you to-morrow !” 

More than once during the reading of the let- 
ter Maxime had made a nervous movement. As 
the last line was finished, — 

“ Why do you leave your mother without let- 
ters ? These complaints are a nuisance. Damn 
it ! two or three pages a week won’t kill you.” 

F or five minutes the scolding continued in this 
strain. When Helion left he was a little less 
contented with his day than he had been before 
the scene. While riding along he thought, “ It 
is too had I could not ask him if he wrote every 
week.” 

As for Maxime, his paternal role was finished 
until the next Sunday. He brushed his hair, 
curled his moustache, polished his hat, and, clad 
in his best overcoat, took his way to the Boule- 
vard, — to the dear Boulevard, — where he felt so 
far removed from Bernaz. For one hour he 
wandered pitiably along the crowded sidewalk, 
thinking to himself, “ Should I fall suddenly 
dead, no one would stop more than five minutes 
near my body.” Decidedly, Paris had ceased to 
amuse him. He had not refound his Paris, — 
the Paris of his dreams, the Paris of the Siege, 
with its mourning, its sadness, — hut, in company 
with his comrades wearing the same uniform, 
alluring him on with the gaiety of youth, stimu- 
6 


62 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


lating him by their common example toward 
pleasure not less than toward danger. 

All had changed. Maxime no longer had 
comrades, nor money, and, without being con- 
scious of the fact, he no longer had youth. He 
again felt his old timidity, his dread of new faces, 
and, above all, his horror of society. In the 
space of two months in this so longed-for city he 
had not found again one relation, one friend of 
yore ; he had not taken one hour of pleasure for 
which he had not paid for afterward by a senti- 
ment of pity for himself. There was not a man 
or woman with whom, from time to time, he 
>ould walk, laugh, and talk as did all these men 
and women whose Voices he heard, whose smiles 
he envied, feeling his own heart almost harden 
in the long silence of his promenade ; not one 
friend. But hold, — a name came to his mind : 
Antonin Fischel. 

But what likelihood that a man absorbed in 
immense inventions, disdaining to stoop to the 
commonplace, a perfect savant, an audacious 
thinker, would accept the useless friendship of 
Maxime de Bernaz ? Only to obtain the friend- 
ship of this stranger who by a simple word could 
open new horizons! Maxime said to himself, 
“ Could I see him often I feel that I should be- 
come some one. But, after all, has he not given 
me the permission to visit him again ?” To see 
him again! to possess one friend, what a joy! 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


63 


But they had parted only the evening before. 
Was it not proper to wait a few days before pay- 
ing the second visit? The eagerness might 
please, hut it might seem importunate. Maxime 
while walking argued the question with the 
timid anguish of a lover who feared to displease 
his lady-love. He finally decided he would go 
the next day to see his future friend. 


CHAPTEE YII. 

The snapping black eyes of Antonin shot a 
gleam of good omen even before he spoke. 
Evidently he was well pleased to see the Mar- 
quis. 

“I saw you yesterday before the theatre in 
company with a tall young man, no doubt your 
son V’ 

“ Yes, it was a holiday for the son, but a day 
of duty for the father.” 

“ To perform your duty, then, is not agreeable 
to you, so it seems. What do you propose to 
make of this tall boy ?” 

“ An officer, the only possible career for him. 
I do not intend that he shall be what I have 
been all my life, an idler.” 

“ You noblemen are so astonishing. Either a 


64 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


public career or — idleness. ITo middle course. 
To work for others or not to work at all. The 
result is that you are only too happy some fine 
day to be invited to the hunting-parties of the 
plebeian who hunts the stag in your woods, which 
he has purchased. And you are happier still to 
marry your sons to his daughters, thus regaining 
possession of your woods in payment for your 
name. For a century and a half you have not 
changed.’’ 

‘‘ Do you think so ? I contest your opinion on 
this point?” said Maxime. “We have changed, 
for formerly we refused to earn money. To- 
day we would like to do so but are not able. 
For myself, I am quite ready to manufacture 
candles, chocolates, sugar, no matter what. Only 
point out the way to me.” 

“ It is too late. Monsieur le Marquis, at least for 
you. From ten to twenty years you have been 
subjected to a rigime intended to raise an impos- 
sible barrier between you and candles. Your 
education condemns you to consume without ever 
producing.” 

“ But my son ?” 

“ Ah, for him it is still worse. You will not 
make even a producer of him, but a soldier, or, 
in other words, a destroyer. I admit that the 
examples come from high authority. Every sov- 
ereign in Europe has but one care : to accumu- 
late in his hands the greatest means of destruc- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


65 


tion. Always routine, you see, the old routine 
of Alexander and of Bonaparte ; but the world 
has progressed, and the future great man of his- 
tory — should he come in ten or in a hundred 
years — will be the monarch of genius who will dis- 
band his troops, will turn his barracks into tene- 
ment-houses, his arsenals into factories. That, 
Monsieur, is the future ; do not forget my words.’’ 

This eloquence made Maxime uneasy, but the 
blood of an old race coursed through his veins. 

“Would you like, then, to suppress — national 
glory?” 

“ I^ot so ; but military glory (it can be said it 
is the only one) will end by being relegated to 
the museums. As for myself, had I a son, he 
should most certainly be familiar with the old 
galleries of armour and historical trophies, but 
each holiday he should spend one hour at the 
Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers. Your son 
has been there ?” 

“Yo; but I shall take him next Sunday. 
Monsieur, could he but hear you, could he but 
admire your invention! Ah, this engine! I 
dream of it at night !” 

“ And I also,” said Fischel, smiling. 

Then the two men began to talk of the motor. 
Antonin read as in an open book the desire and 
projects which already inflated Maxime’s mind. 
After an hour the Marquis rose, fearing to weary 
his host by too long a visit. 


66 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ If I dared/’ stammered Maxime, — if I did 
not fear that my poor, ignorant conversation 
would weary a scientific man, I should implore 
you to come and dine with me next Sunday. 
You would see my son. Who knows what in- 
fiuence you might have over his future ?” 

“ I rarely go out,” answered Fischel, “ but a 
cordial invitation like yours cannot be refused. 
Only remember, you have given me your prom- 
ise to maintain absolute discretion in regard to 
my discovery.” 

Maxime returned home by the way of the 
Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers. Afterwards 
he stopped at a bookseller’s, where he loaded 
himself down with works on chemistry, physics, 
and engineering, written for the use of society 
people. For several days he became absorbed 
in his studies, once more finding what had been 
taught him thirty years ago in a' superficial way. 
From this time he considered himself well en- 
lightened on Fischel’s invention. 

“ Hold on, father. What is this, ‘ The theory 
of exploding mixtures’ ? Are you cramming for 
examinations, then ?” 

Thus Helion saluted his father on his arrival 
the following Sunday. 

“ My son,” said Antonin’s disciple, have you 
remarked one thing, — that the education which 
you and I have received condemns us to consume 
without ever producing ?” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


67 


‘‘ I beg your pardon ; you forget that I in- 
tend to have a career,” said the young man, 
smiling. 

“ Yes, true; hut you will become a destroyer, 
not a producer. I will wager you never thought 
of that.” 

^fo, I have quite enough to think of in my 
weekly examinations. Naturally, Saint Cyr is 
not a primary school for agriculture. Shall we 
go out to-day ?” 

“ Yes, and I will take you to the Conservatoire 
des Arts et Metiers. There is nothing more 
curious in Paris.” 

‘‘ Good-bye to matinees,” thought Helion, sor- 
rowfully. However, he made no objection and 
followed his father, who tilled his role of cicerone 
quite creditably. 

“ You have been here before ?” asked the young 
man, opening his big eyes in astonishment. 

“ Several times. I am working, my dear boy. 
We have lost our fortune. We must repair it. 
That is my career. Is it not as good as any 
other ?” 

While returning home Maxime informed his 
son that they would have a guest, — Antonin 
Fischel, a remarkable savant. 

Oh, yes,” answered Helion, “ the practical 
man. Where did you ferret him out? Is he 
French ? What is his line of production, since 
it is a question of producing ?” 


68 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Maxime was embarrassed, and did not dare to 
confess that he had found Fischel in an omnibus, 
and that he was ignorant of everything concern- 
ing him, even his nationality. 

“Patience,” he replied, vaguely; “talk with 
him first. I only wish you had his mind.” 

Helion was compelled to admit to himself 
that his father’s guest was a brilliant talker. 
This stranger spoke with intelligence on every- 
thing, and had his personal views on all subjects. 
He sounded the collegian on his studies as though 
he had been a professor. He appreciated the 
literary novelties as a man who had read much. 
Political men were judged in a single sentence 
with cold impartiality. Even the cooking was 
commented upon in a truly scientific manner, 
and Eischel let it be seen that he had eaten 
something in every country. In vain did Helion 
try to make him speak of himself and his travels. 
The new friend’s conversation became curt when 
an efibrt was made to direct it toward his ante- 
cedents. But this reserve, which to many would 
have been suspicious, in Maxime’s eyes was only 
a new proof of strength. 

The young man sent back to college, the Mar- 
quis could at last speak freely. An idea had 
fermented in his brain for two days. With all 
the precautions of a timid diplomat he showed 
that he would have no objections to putting 
some money in the motor. Then, as though 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


69 


intimidated by an indiscretion, be grew silent, 
waiting tbe reply of the inventor. 

Fiscbel did not appear shocked or even aston- 
ished at what he heard. But instead of replying 
he asked questions. "What sum was at the dis- 
position of the Marquis de Bernaz ? What were 
his present, his future means ? What were his 
connections in the province? Did he possess 
rich friends ? Suddenly he asked, — 

‘‘ You are a widower, Monsieur le Marquis ?” 

“ Yo.” 

‘‘ Separated, then V’ 

“ Yo, not even that.’^ 

“ Oh,” said Antonin, absorbed in an ominous 
revery. Then, after a moment, — 

“Is it by choice that the Marquise remains in 
Savoy ?” 

“ Prudence has something to do with it, but 
Paris is not her sort. She has never put foot 
here. She is a provincial of the serious, the 
religious kind, hating to be disturbed in her de- 
votions, in her reading, slightly indolent, a trifle 
cold, seeking, above all, peace in this world and 
in the next. Yo, I cannot imagine her coming 
to live in Paris.” 

“ And if I am not mistaken you do not in- 
tend to oppose her preferences.” 

“ Oh, I have never opposed her very much. 
'No more, indeed, than she has opposed me; 
that is only justice to her.” 


70 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ Monsieur le Marquis, you are a lucky man,” 
said Fisckel, rising. ‘‘Allow me to reflect on 
your proposition. Is Madame la Marquise aware 
of it?” 

“Ho; I do not propose to tell her. I have 
promised you secrecy.” 

“ That is well,” said the inventor. 

A few days later Maxime returned home 
bringing a paper, the duplicate of which he had 
just signed with Fischel. His dream was sur- 
passed. Hot only had he an interest in the 
motor, hut he had become something like a 
partner of Fischel, and, to complete his good 
luck, had been appointed secretary of the new 
company, at once drawing a salary. He had 
signed without reading much, and, above all, 
without understanding much. But the follow- 
ing argument of his interlocutor was not to be 
answered : 

“ I did not seek you. You came to me. It is 
a case of take or leave.” 

At last the situation was found. Maxime, 
this night, had golden dreams. The next day 
he resolved to inform Chantal of his first victory, 
but he decided to wait. Even though the Mar- 
quise was a provincial, she might seize this event 
as a pretext to claim her place at the conjugal 
fireside. And up to this day Maxime had never 
profited by his independence. The letter to 
Chantal was postponed, but he wrote to Hubi- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 71 

geon for funds for the first installment without 
losing a minute. 

Fischel had not lied when he said that they 
would proceed quickly. At the end of a month 
a place was rented in the Batignolles to serve as 
a workshop, while the business office was situ- 
ated a short distance from the Bourse. To tell 
the truth, Bernaz alone constituted the entire 
stafi:' of this office; but he possessed sufficient 
zeal for four. At his desk the secretary copied 
with his own hand the rough drafts furnished 
by the head of the firm. There were letters 
addressed to his acquaintances and relations in 
Savoy. They were a trifie long, but cleverly con- 
ceived. The motor was explained, the great 
industrial revolution prophesied at short notice. 
Bernaz believed he was obliging his compatriots 
by pointing out to them an opportunity the like 
of which was not to be met with once in fifty 
years. Some shares of original stock could still 
be had at par, provided they did not lose time. 
On application the cash purchaser might be 
admitted to see the model work. 

Signed by an unfamiliar name, or one only 
known in business, this autographic prospectus 
would have been consigned to the waste-basket ; 
but Maxime’s friends knew him to be intellect- 
ually and morally incapable of duping any one. 
In this prose could be scented the air of truth, 
the naive absence of anything like an advertise- 


72 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ment. Fischel had not been mistaken in the 
services which such an auxiliary could render 
him. After a short interval he received calls 
from a few Savoyards who had come to Paris 
for their business or pleasure. Incontestably, 
Fischel was a man of rare eloquence. Two 
shares of original stock were sold; and as it 
happens, the new adherents showed themselves 
indefatigable in their propaganda. What most 
impressed the whole province was, that the 
Fischel motor had not cost one franc for adver- 
tising in the newspapers. 

One Sunday, Bernaz pointed proudly to a 
shining roll of gold on the mantel-piece, and 
said to his son, ‘‘Ah! behold the first money 
your father has earned. It is my salary for a 
month. To receive an equivalent sum you must 
become a colonel, — and there are your exami- 
nations to pass first. Poor boy ! would you not 
change willingly with me ?” 

“ At once,” replied Helion, who did not know 
that the salary of the King of France was paid 
out of the funds of the Due d’Orleans.’’ * 

“We will speak again of your future. Fischel 


* Before Louis XII. became King of France he was the Due 
d’Orleans, and in that character had been injured by several 
persons. After ascending the throne his councillors advised 
him to punish his former enemies, whereupon he made this 
generous answer: “ Le roi de France ne doit pas venger les 
injures du Due d’Orleans.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


73 


is looldng around for you. He is a friend in- 
deed.’’ 

Maxime was no longer the same man; he 
grew more confident, and already breathed the 
air of the Boulevard with inflated lungs. His 
new clothes were of a good cut. Antonin had 
urged him to join one of the largest, if not 
the most select clubs in Paris. He had even 
found seconders. In this palace Bernaz imbibed 
pleasures which his imagination had never pic- 
tured while beneath the modest roof of the 
club of Chambery. About this time he wan- 
dered (without consulting his protector) into 
the boundaries of the fashionable demi-monde, 
which on his own account necessitated his draw- 
ing on Dubigeon. But Antonin smelt a rat; 
questioning his subordinate, he forced him to 
confess that he had spent his money for his own 
pleasure. The culprit begged forgiveness and 
promised to be wiser in the future. He was 
pardoned, but Antonin looked out for surety, for 
the flesh is weak. A warning in due form was 
served on the notary of Chambery, Dubigeon 
did not fail to notify Maxime, who was bold 
enough to complain. 

‘‘Ah, my friend,” coldly said the inventor, 
“I watch over your share of the partnership. 
I presume you were not admitted for your tech- 
nical knowledge. Each one to his role. Besides, 
if women are necessary to you, go into society.” 

D 7 


74 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Strange to relate, Maxime obeyed, he, who de- 
tested society. Though Fischel never put his 
foot in a salon, he directed and counselled his 
friend with wonderful sharp-sightedness. With 
no more effort than he had expended to become 
a member of his club, this Parisian penetrated 
into a very hospitable and amusing society, where 
the women were lacking nothing, neither beauty, 
wit, elegance, nor even titles, nothing, in fact, ex- 
cept — husbands. It was managed as much as 
possible, however, to have at each reunion one 
married couple, but this sample was such that 
there were no regrets for the absence of others. 
Maxime in a very short time had acquired the 
conquering, the familiar chiffonnante manners of 
this society, greatly to his own surprise, as he 
fancied this style difficult to attain. 

Henceforth, for him each day was a new tri- 
umph, in the sense that he was invited every- 
where on first sight without even being known. 
It was a thunderclap, not applied to love, but to 
invitations. For entire weeks the way to his 
own dining-room was forgotten; and, a really 
wonderful phenomenon, he was mentioned by 
the reporters as having been “recognised” at 
certain soirees, where he knew no one, not even 
the hostess herself. 

“ At last,” he thought, “ I have commenced to 
live. But how many years lost !” 

Nevertheless, Maxime did not propose to limit 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


75 


himself to the dinners of these charming creat- 
ures, whose wines were not always of the first 
order, but whose decolletees defied all compari- 
son. When consenting to go into society he had 
dreamed of a sweeter destiny, and, though he 
was not possessed of the sharp eyes of an eagle, 
certain details caused him to divine that other 
mortals happier than he had realised their 
dreams. But when he sought the realisation of 
his own, he had the humiliating surprise of find- 
ing before him citadels of virtue. 

As he broached the subject with Fischel, who, 
in spite of the warning he had served, still re- 
mained his friend, — 

“ Mind,” answered the philosopher, “ that the 
majority of these young women, beneath a frivo- 
lous appearance, hide the hard necessity of being 
wise. Those who have serious lovers stick to 
them ; those who have not are looking for them. 
You, my dear Marquis, are not serious in the 
sense I mean, for, unfortunately, you are poor.” 

What good would it be were I a millionaire, 
since my money is sequestered by you ?” 

“Damn it,” answered Antonin, “are you 
stupid enough to wish to spend money on any 
of these women ? Do better ; make use of this 
society, which, much more than you think, is 
a business society. Look, for example, at the 
Baroness Artens. Yo doubt you believe that 
this pretty woman thinks only of toilets and co- 


76 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


quetry. Well, she earns thirty thousand francs 
every year in commissions. Speak to her of our 
business.’’ 

“ She is a bird. She never even listens when 
T talk to her.” 

“ Because you tell her that you love her. Try 
other subjects. Promise her (I authorise you to 
do so) one hundred francs for every one of our 
shares which she shall sell, then you will see if 
she is a bird.” 

Fischel was right. Maxime became serious, 
the Baroness listened, and both found it to their 
advantage. She received in one month several 
hundred louis. At forty-five years of age Ber- 
naz knew for the first time the happiness of 
being loved by a woman of the world, and 
Fischel received the cash for twenty shares of 
his stock. 

These new subscriptions, added to others much 
more numerous, which had been furnished by 
Savoy, commenced to amount to a round sum. 
Antonin deemed it was time to construct the 
first apparatus, — an important decision, of which 
the secretary, in a high-fiown circular, informed 
all interested parties. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


77 


CHAPTER VIII. 

About this time Chantal received a letter from 
her husband. He did not mention the motor, 
nor even the Baroness Artens, hut announced 
as a settled fact a most serious step. He had 
decided that Helion should renounce Saint Cyr, 
where his admission was extremely doubtful. 
Instead, he was to enter a new academy, which 
had been discovered and extolled by Fischel, 
where practical studies were especially devel- 
oped, and where particular facilities” were 
guaranteed to civil engineers to find employ- 
ment upon graduating. The work of the forge 
would replace riding lessons, the study of Eng- 
lish would supplant all other literature. In his 
father’s letter there was one from the young 
man which showed much enthusiasm. 

' Chantal was far from sharing this enthusiasm, 
and with consternation written on her face sought 
her uncle and read the letter she had just re- 
ceived. 

I have never hidden my scruples from you,” 
said the old man. And do you not shiver at the 
idea of your son fighting on a battle-field where 
there are no priests? However, it is not very 
pleasing to me to know that a Bernaz beats the 
7 * 


78 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


anvil. What folly ! And, besides, have you not 
been consulted V’ 

“Ko. Who has ever consulted me? Who 
has ever given me my proper place in this 
family, — that of wife and mother ?” 

“ What astonishes me is that Helion appears 
enchanted.” 

‘‘Ah, for two months past his letters have 
made me tremble. Some one changes all his 
ideas, one after another. He is so deficient in 
force, so young still, and ever since he was 
horn he has only come in contact with people 
whose conduct lacks stability and whose char- 
acters are not strong.” 

“ Alas, my niece, we cannot make natures over 
again.” 

Chantal understood that she could obtain 
nothing more, and, vibrating with indignation, 
she wrote Maxime that she did not intend to 
remain any longer separated from her own. 
But as she finished her letter a servant notified 
her that Monsieur Dubigeon awaited her. 

The notary summoned to that part of the 
country by a transfer of real estate, profited by 
the occasion to pay his respects to the Marquise, 
asking at the same time for her commissions in 
Paris. 

He explained : “ I am leaving with my son to 
place him in ‘ Louis-le-Grand,’ and intend to go 
and see him from time to time.” Informed of 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 79 

the resolution adopted by Helion, he shook his 
head, hut said very little. 

‘‘ It is evidently very serious,’’ he answered ; 

but many other incidents not easy to explain 
cause me anxiety. I must confer with Monsieur 
le Marquis. Do not doubt my sincere devo- 
tion.” 

He said no more, deeming that his professional 
secrecy would not allow him to confide even to 
the Marquise the singular operations of her 
husband. Besides, he did not very well under- 
stand the situation himself, and needed to ques- 
tion Maxime about his relations with Fischel. 
With this aim he betook himself to his client’s 
apartment soon after his arrival in Paris. 

Even though it was half-past one, Bernaz, clad 
in an elegant morning costume, had scarcely 
finished a very Parisian breakfast. Pie evinced 
signs of uneasiness on seeing Dubigeon, but 
aftected some cordiality. They left the dining- 
room for the little salon, of which the soft-cush- 
ioned furniture scarcely seemed made for notaries’ 
visits. Without preamble, Dubigeon plunged 
into facts : 

“ Monsieur le Marquis, I had the honour of 
’ notifying you of the warning I received to refuse 
all payment of sums demanded in my care. 
But you have not considered it worth your 
while to reply to me. Nevertheless, afiairs can- 
not remain in statu quo. What are your relations 


80 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


with Mr. Antonin Fischel, our opponent ? He 
pretends some agreement with you. I must see 
this bit of paper.” 

Maxime produced the contract, and could not 
not help feeling a vague uneasiness when he saw 
Duhigeon’s upset countenance. 

“ But, Monsieur le Marquis, this is as good as 
putting the keys of your safe deposit box in this 
man’s hands. He can empty it if he so chooses. 
Are you well acquainted with him at least? 
And what is this invention the expenses of 
which you agree to cover without limiting the 
figure ?” 

The result of the cross-examination can be 
guessed. Maxime was in ignorance of every- 
thing concerning his partner: his antecedents, 
his morality, even his country. The business 
itself was not much more familiar to him. He 
had never glanced over the accounts, and it was 
easy to see that he had never put his foot into 
the workshop. 

“ Well,” decided Dubigeon, ‘‘ I am going there, 
and will see you after this visit.” 

But the visit was not made. jN'ot only did 
Fischel refuse to show his engine, or the little 
of it which existed, but he refused to show him- 
self. Eepulsed on every line, Dubigeon returned 
to the Marquis. 

‘‘ ITow,” said he, “ I see through it all. Fear 
nothing; be he German, Hungarian, or Swiss, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


81 


your Fischel shall not stop me from entering on 
my next visit. He does not know Frangois 
Dubigeon, notary of Chambery. While waiting, 
it is the family friend who speaks. Do you not 
think it time that you summoned Madame la 
Marquise to you 

Maxime had not anticipated this attack, and 
his countenance fell and displayed a real an- 
guish. Instinctively his eyes sought his table, 
where among his bric-^-brac stood a photograph 
of the Baroness Artens, all resplendent in the 
glory of her white shoulders. Once again Dubi- 
geon could say, ‘‘ I see through it all.’’ As he 
was about to plead the cause of duty and good 
reputation, a new personage appeared upon the 
scene. It was Fischel, who at the first glance 
guessed that Dubigeon was the repelled visitor, 
although he had never seen him. 

“ Oh, I see I am de trop,^^ he said. 

Realising that the time had come to play a 
telling scene, the inventor pretended to retire. 
Maxime stopped him. Fischel, pointing to the 
notary, said, — 

“ My dear Marquis, you will excuse me if I 
ask you to choose between me and your family 
spy.” 

This was too much for poor Bernaz, who red- 
dened, stammered, raised his arms to heaven, 
and helplessly tried to get out of a bad hole. 

“Dear Monsieur Dubigeon, will you be so 
/ 


82 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


good as to understand that I am compelled to 
show much regard — I will say more, much grati- 
tude — for without — my friend Fischel ” 

“ [N’ot a word more,” interrupted the notary. 
“Do not indict the insult of showing the door to 
an old friend of the Bernaz family. I leave you, 
and even though it is difficult to rescue a drown- 
ing man against his will, I shall endeavour to 
render you this last service because it is my 
duty.” 

Master of the field, Fischel fell into an arm- 
chair as though overcome. 

“ Miserable fool that I am,” he cried at last, 
“ to choose for an assistant in my work a man 
who is not free, and does not know how to free 
himself. Here am I now with a notary on my 
heels. I shall find him at every corner, and, to 
begin with, he will rob me of your confidence ; 
but don’t let us wait until this moment comes. 
Leave me ; leave Paris. Go and take back the 
Marquise. A man’s nature cannot be changed. 
Yours is made to vegetate in the province, for 
family servitude. Go away ; take Helion back. 
Forget me, both of you, but do me justice on 
this point: you are the one who sought me. 
You were wandering aimlessly in the streets 
without a friend, without experience. That is 
what drew me toward you. I had hoped to be 
able to do you some good. It was all a mistake. 
Adieu !” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


83 


Antonin went away, not wishing to hear any 
more, and Maxime remained alone, crushed by 
a mad terror ; for none of these words had failed 
to attain its aim. His existence of former days 
loomed up before him : twenty years of pro- 
vincial and conjugal life, broken only by a few 
distractions, the memories of which caused him 
to feel a hitter self-commiseration. He once 
more saw himself as he had been a year ago, — 
isolated in a great city in ignorance of real life, 
lost in the surging crowd of beings who were 
condemned to die before ever having lived. 

At this moment he enjoyed life with an ardour 
unknown in youth. He had experienced what 
many middle-aged provincials do, who, after a 
half-century spent in the purgatory of a small 
country town, are thrown into the paradise of 
the capital. The contrasts, the fascinations, can- 
not he understood unless they are experienced. 
He was intoxicated to the verge of folly, which, 
coming late in life, could not last long. 

He found greater amusement in the gossip of 
the club than he had ever known before. He 
plunged into it with a singular voluptuousness. 
He had quickly become an adept at this common 
school for scandal. This conversation, abusive 
and malicious without measure because it had 
no individual responsibility, each day betrayed 
into his hands the last fault, the last misadven- 
ture, the last joke, of these grandes dames y of all 


84 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


the dames both great and small, whom formerly 
he looked upon as the passer-by looks upon the 
jewels in a shop-window. And in the evening, 
in order to he popular, he served up these jokes 
in a salon well filled with women of a variety un- 
known in the society once his. He was listened 
to while he disclosed, in the space of a quarter 
of an hour, more shame and scandal than Savoy 
had known in fifty years. Occasionally he was 
witty, for he could retail without circumlocution 
a collection of stories gathered two hours pre- 
viously. But he was not merely a narrator, for 
he had his own story, the charming hypocrisy of 
a concealed liaison^ which did not prevent the 
various hostesses from inviting him regularly 
with the Baroness Artens unless she expressed a 
desire otherwise. Sometimes she was so cruel. 

Fischel held the key to this terrestrial paradise. 
By one word he could have Maxime expelled. 
Unable to support this frightful anguish, Maxime 
fiew to his protector’s house and seized him by 
both hands. 

With what do you reproach me ?” asked he, 
humbly. ‘‘Why are you angry? Is it I who 
sent for Duhigeon ?” 

“If it is not you who sent for him, it is the 
Marquise who sent him,” replied Bischel, se- 
verely. “ To me it is the same thing. Are you 
not responsible for her acts ?” 

“Well,” said Bernaz, happy to have put his 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


85 


hand on a propitiatory victim, you can be sure 
she won’t repeat it. I intend to write her, and 
will show you the letter.” 

Two closely-written pages were soon finished, 
and this time Maxime did not require a rough 
sketch. 

“Read,” said he, handing the sheet to the 
judge. Antonin read to the end attentively. 

“ Take care,” said he, giving back the letter; 
“it is rather strong, and if the Marquise is a 
woman of character — are you not going a little 
too far ?” 

“Ah, so much the worse for her if she is 
angry. Do you think that I am content to lose 
my situation, my only friend, for her caprice ?” 

His nerves, naturally weak, were completely 
upset. He sobbed. His companion was obliged 
to calm him with the assurance that nothing 
should be changed between them, provided he 
continued to show this amenable disposition. 
On parting that day they “ thee’d” and “ thou’d” 
each other. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Chantal did not reply to her husband’s letter, 
which made Eischel conclude that decidedly she 
was lacking in character. If, however, she was 
lacking in character, she was not in dignity. 

8 


86 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Wlien Dubigeon returned to Savoy he related 
his Odyssey, or, to put it more correctly, his 
failure, while the Marquise contented herself 
by telling him that temporarily she should re- 
main with the Chevalier de Beauvoisin, but did 
not add that she commenced to fear that her 
stay would be of long duration. 

An incident soon confirmed this opinion. 
Maxime’s old servant arrived one evening, melt- 
ing in tears and relating many stories which 
were not to Fischehs credit. This ‘intruder,” 
as she called him, governed the household, even 
going so far as to pay the cook’s accounts, dis- 
charging her at his pleasure and putting one of 
his own spies in her place. 

“ The saddest of all is that my old master has 
never been so happy as at this moment, when he 
is merely a cipher. One cannot help seeing how 
he is treated. Monsieur le Marquis is forced to 
ask for money as he did in former days. But 
his dead father never ruled him so harshly. He 
has found a master who reproaches him from 
morning until night, calling him this or that, 
telling him that he has no intelligence, is lazy. 
A servant would give warning, but Monsieur is 
like a lamb in the hands of a wicked man. And, 
besides, there is Madame Artens ” 

At this point the old servant was cut short by 
Chantal, who was disgusted by such disclosures. 
Besides, the Marquise knew quite enough, — and 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT, 


87 


the loss, more or less momentary, of Maxime 
did not break her heart. Her sole thought was 
her son. As the autumn vacation was approach- 
ing, no doubt Helion would return for several 
weeks. She did not care to see anything else, 
and centred her thoughts as well as all her hopes 
and interest in life on this coming happiness. 

A letter from the young man — his father had 
ceased to write — destroyed this illusion. At the 
mere sight of the English stamp Chantal’s heart 
sank. Joyously Helion wrote that he was at 
Manchester, where he would remain until No- 
vember. He was visiting some factories and 
acquiring a fluency in the language of the coun- 
try, “ which a man destined to business cannot 
do without.” As to knowing if his mother 
could do without him, that had never entered 
his thoughtless head. This time the Marquise 
did not hesitate. During the day she sent to 
Maxime’s address the following despatch : 

“ Will arrive to-morrow morning. 

“ Chant AL.” 

“Behold, misfortunes never come singly!” 
said Bernaz to his friend. “ Yesterday Madame 
Artens wrote me from Dieppe that she casts me 
away, and to-day it is my wife who announces 
her arrival. For a little more I should throw 
myself into the river.” 

Fischel knew his companion, and had no fears 


88 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


regarding suicide. But he was not so tranquil 
respecting the consequences of Chantal’s visit, 
of which the laconic telegram portended nothing 
good. He reflected, while Maxim e was pouring 
out his complaints, — 

What can I do ? It is impossible for me to 
slam the door in my wife’s face, and, still more, 
I cannot compel her to return if she wishes to 
remain. It is enough to make a man lose his 
head !” 

Fischel, however, did not lose his. He had a 
plan, which he made known with his usual diplo- 
macy. 

“Do not despair. A man has always three 
methods to adopt : to fight, capitulate, or to fly. 
Fighting is not within your means, and, as far 
as I can see, capitulation is not your desire; 
you have, then, but one course to pursue, to fly 
bravely. Strap your valise and go to a hotel to 
sleep. But first clear this table of all these 
photographs, too decolletees for the eyes of a 
Savoyard — and a wife. Shut your harem up in 
a drawer, and for the rest — count upon me. The 
Marquise will return home to-morrow, or she is 
stronger than I give her credit for being.” 

Always obedient, Maxime had soon evacuated 
his rooms and beat a hasty retreat to a neigh- 
bouring hotel, where, like another Alexander, 
he slept on the eve of the battle. In the mean 
while the train was bringing Chantal, who was 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


89 


no more disposed to sleep than she was shaken 
by fear. As her confessor had said one day, 
even the lions of the amphitheatre could not 
hold her at bay when it was a question of faith. 
Now her son was in this life her religion, her 
faith, her hope. 

On the platform of the station the only fero- 
cious beast she found was a man of respectable 
mien, who, hat in hand, accosted her, and pre- 
sented a blue paper. 

“Madame la Marquise,” he said, “here is 
your telegram. In the absence of the Marquis, 
and according to his orders, I have opened it. 
I trust you will allow me to conduct you to your 
home. But first let us hunt your baggage ” 

“ This valise comprises my baggage,” said 
Chantal, allowing the stranger to disembarrass 
her of her load. 

“ I am under the necessity of introducing my- 
self,” said he : “ Antonin Fischel, engineer.” 

At this name Chantal experienced one of the 
greatest surprises of her life. She had resolved 
to treat this underhanded counsellor of her hus- 
band according to his deserts, and behold, she 
found herself face to face with an unexpected 
Fischel, polite, gentle, almost timid, who had 
gotten up at daybreak to welcome her on the 
arrival of her train. It was a sheep whom she 
found before her, and not a devouring lion. She 
was so stupefied that some time passed, while the 
8 * 


90 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


carriage rolled along, without her saying one 
word to her companion. 

“ How did you know who I was ?” she finally 
asked. 

‘‘ Oh, Madame, have I not seen your photo- 
graph a hundred times ?” 

“ And Monsieur de Bernaz ?” 

“He is absent, Madame. His health, which 
has suffered from the heat, demanded a change. 
Besides, he did not wish to leave his son for too 
long a time. The Marquis is in England.” 

“ All the better; I will join them.” 

Antonin had not foreseen this contingency. 
Hodding assent, as though he judged the idea 
most excellent, he reflected, — 

“The stupid fellow! So he allows his wife 
money. Well, we will change all that.” 

But at precisely the same moment Chantal 
remembered with a painful anguish that she 
had just two louis in her pocket. Her penury 
rendered her speechless, and weighed at this 
hour more heavily upon her than anything else. 
What could she do alone in Paris with only 
forty francs ? 

Suddenly the carriage stopped, the traveller 
was “at home.” Without entering the apart- 
ment, Antonin said, — 

“ I suppose, Madame, now you will rest. Will 
you allow me to come in the afternoon to take 
your orders ?” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


91 


She accepted almost with joy, and arranged 
an hour for the interview. Then she entered 
this apartment which by law was hers, hut 
where she felt more a stranger than anywhere 
else in the world. Maxime’s servant, however, 
greeted her as the rightful mistress. She was a 
tall, bony brunette of no appreciable age, and, 
apparently, she was never astonished at anything. 
After a refreshing toilet “ Madame” was shown 
into the dining-room, where a delicious cup of 
smoking chocolate awaited her ; afterwards into 
the salon, which was quite filled with fresh flow- 
ers. On the table a single photograph was to 
be seen, her own, dug out from a drawer a few 
hours before, where now reposed the interdicted 
“harem.” She almost smiled to herself while 
thinking that had Maxime been present she 
would not have found so many roses. The 
servant arranged the pillows on the lounge. 

“Will Madame la Marquise sleep a little, 
but will she first please order her breakfast?” 

Chantal needed reflection more than sleep. 
She seemed to be moving as in a dream, made 
up of the impossible and unexpected. How she 
would have shrugged her shoulders had some 
one told her two hours before that she would 
have been ordering her breakfast in her hus- 
band’s home after having found Fischel at the 
station to carry her bag ! 

This accomplished diplomat, when he appeared 


92 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


at the appointed hour in the afternoon, under- 
stood that matters were taking a good turn ; in 
other words, the Marquise seemed less sure of 
herself than she had been in the morning. 

“ Indeed, it is a great disappointment to find 
my husband absent,” she said. 

“Well, Madame,” sighed Fischel, “what 
would you say if I declared that his absence 
delights me as a piece of good luck ?” 

“I should beg you to explain this delight,” 
replied Chantal, with a haughty look. 

“Let us explain things, then. In deciding 
upon this unexpected journey, did you think 
what this outcome might be ? Maxime’s temper 
has not improved since he has been in business.” 

“ neither has his business,” interrupted Chan- 
tal, turning on Fischel a look which was more 
eloquent than words. Without allowing him- 
self to be troubled by it, he replied, — 

“ The absence of your husband has another 
advantage : we can talk, or, to put it better, I can 
defend myself; and everything tends to show 
that I need to do so. Of what crimes do you 
accuse me ? A year ago, Madame, the Marquis 
de Bernaz was wandering in the streets of Paris, 
trying to get out of the mire in which he had 
been stuck all his life. I found him on my way. 
He followed me to my home as a lost dog does 
the first passer-by. I never asked him for any- 
thing. It was he who appealed to me with his 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


93 


sad looks. Why tremble with indignation at 
niy words ? I suppose you know your husband ; 
do you believe that he belongs to the class of 
life-savers or those who are drowned ?” 

“ I know my husband and perhaps judge him, 
but I do not permit others to judge him in my 
presence.” 

“ You are not, then, like other women ; but 
finally, whether you were willing or not, I under- 
took to rescue him. I have made the Marquis 
de Bernaz my partner. I am determined that 
he shall be rich, that you shall be rich some day. 
But who can say if there will be riches in half 
a century ? I wish to give your son something 
better than wealth, — independence. ITow, inde- 
pendence only belongs to that man capable of 
earning money by himself, always, ever3rsvhere. 
That was why it was necessary that Helion’s 
education should be changed.” 

“ One would think you were speaking of an 
orphan,” protested Chantal. ‘^Before making 
any change in my son’s education, it seems to 
me I had the right to be consulted ; and, at any 
rate, I had the right to watch over this change.” 

“ What, then, do you fear, Madame ? Do you 
distrust me ? Do think you have before you an 
atheist, or even a scoffer ? i^’either the one nor 
the other, I swear to you.” 

‘‘ So much the better for you. But it is not 
alone Helion’s religious faith which I wish him 


94 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


to preserve. There are earthly creeds which a 
man in his position must cherish in his heart.” 

“ My profession of political faith would aston- 
ish even the Marquise de Bernaz. Probably my 
ideas are more aristocratic than yours, for I am 
too sensible to take certain words in their literal 
meaning: liberty, for example. A man is not 
free so long as he has not a thousand francs in 
his pocket. Fraternity is a colossal lie which 
secures a truce, mediocrity, while waiting the 
first shot from the gun of social war. As to 
Equality, that is the right to be jealous. What 
is true is, that the compensation of inequalities, 
always sought after, never realised, gives to 
modern progress an aim, and at the same time 
an incitement. There must be a certain number 
of beggars to make a Croesus, a certain number 
of ignoramuses to make a Homer, a certain 
number of cowards to make a Leonidas. By 
decreeing that everybody shall own something, 
that everybody shall be Bachelor of Arts, that 
everybody shall be a soldier, you would drown 
in general mediocrity Croesus, Homer, and Leon- 
idas. How, there is no great society without 
these three aristocracies, — wealth, talent, and the 
sword. You see, Madame, I am not a leveller.” 

‘‘ That is too much for me,” said Chantal, 
more astonished than she wished to appear. 
‘‘But I would like to know — and this is what 
brought me — if the new programme adopted in 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 95 

the education of my son includes the interdiction 
of his seeing his mother 

‘‘ In good faith, Madame la Marquise, you do 
not believe that. Reflect again. Do you not 
begin to understand things ? Allow me to tell 
you. You have some very blundering partisans.” 

“Duhigeon, I suppose. I know that his ap- 
pearance has caused great indignation. But 
upon my honour, this intervention did not come 
from me.” 

“ Eh, Madame ; why did you not say so 
sooner ? You keep too silent. Alas ! some- 
times it is better to be wrong with cleverness 
than right without diplomacy. The Marquis 
does not possess your intelligence. He is both 
distrustful and suspicious in a way peculiar to 
weak natures. Where was there ever a man 
more easy to lead ? Much adroitness is not 
required, but one must have a little. I repeat it 
now : do you believe that for this unprepared in- 
terview he would have had only smiles for you ?” 

I did not come for smiles, but for my son. 
What right has anyone to refuse him to me ?” 

‘‘ What right ? That is a word which should 
never come from the mouth of a woman. The 
right of a mother ; what is more pathetic ? But 
the right of a father; what is more absolute? 
Your husband is master, and can send his son 
to study in China. Ah, if only I was not the 
last man from whom you would take advice !” 


96 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


But, in spite of all, the Marquise was ready to 
take advice from this man, superior in intelli- 
gence to any other she had ever met. Come to 
fight, she was persuaded. She followed Anto- 
nin’s advice, which was to depart for Savoy, 
leaving to the wise Mentor the care of bringing 
back her Telemachus. She carried away one 
promise, that Helion should pay a visit to his 
mother on his return to France, which would be 
in two months. She departed in a second-class 
compartment almost happy and half grateful, 
escorted by Fischel, who with his own eyes 
wished to see the train bearing her away. On 
leaving the station this skilful schemer hunted 
up Maxime, who awaited him at his hotel. 
“ You can return home,” said he ; “ but had I 
only known that you possessed such a lawyer as 
Dubigeon and such a wife as yours !” 


CHAPTEK X. 

As an adversary Dubigeon had not yet shown 
the measure of his strength. But beneath 
his apparent inaction the vanquished man was 
hiding preparations for revenge. He had vowed 
that sooner or later he would make this same 
Fischel, who had slammed the door in his face, 
capitulate. With this aim in view he established 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


97 


intercourse with certain people who had followed 
the example and recommendation of the Mar- 
quis, and had bought shares in the motor scheme. 
By his efforts a committee was formed, and, in 
order to have a voice in the affair, this man, who 
had never risked a louis in his life, paid one 
thousand francs for a share of the originaf stock, 
which had been sold, on the quiet, by a timid 
holder. From this time on he began to call 
meetings, telling the interested parties of the re- 
ception with which he had met, and compelled 
them to realise the irregularities of the whole 
enterprise. He made them understand that they 
were paying for the clothes, food, and lodging 
of the inventor. But he refrained from intro- 
ducing the name of the Marquis de Bernaz, 
wishing at least that, like Francis I., he might 
be able to say after the battle, “ All is lost save 
honour.’’ The notary’s reputation was well es- 
tablished. In spite of some enthusiasts who 
defended their idol Fischel, he was listened to. 
A number conferred upon him the right to ex- 
amine the accounts and the management of the 
company. Soon afterwards he made the second 
of his periodical trips to Paris, and on-e fine 
morning presented himself once more at the door 
of the workshop where the motor was being 
constructed. 

“ What do you want ?” asked Fischel, roughly, . 
who received him this time. 

9 


B g 


98 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ I wish to admire your engine,” answered the 
visitor, with the broad provincial smile. 

“ My workshop is not a museum. There is 
no admittance.” 

“How so? Ho admittance? I am Fran5ois 
Duhige^n, notary of Chamhery.” 

Fischel was on the point of breaking out in 
invectives, but he was clever in reading physiog- 
nomies, and it struck him that the notary was 
rather too smiling. 

“ Maitre Duhigeon,” said he^ controlling him- 
self, “ the apparatus is not in a condition to be 
exhibited to the public.” 

“ But I am not the public. I am one of the 
share-holders of the ‘ company,’ when you will 
take the trouble to form it legitimately. Here 
is my title, signed by you.” 

“ Go to the devil !” exclaimed Fischel, . exas- 
perated by this clever stroke. 

Duhigeon did not go so far. Two hours later 
he returned, reinforced by two persons, one of 
whom was a sheriff and the other an engineer, 
both Savoyards. It is well to have friends every- 
where. It was intended that the sheriff should 
serve as a witness in case an entrance was re- 
fused. The engineer was to examine the works, 
provided they entered. Dubigeon’s smile grew 
broader and broader. 

There was no question of a refusal. The 
party penetrated into the apartment in good 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


99 


order, followed at a distance by the enemy, the 
inventor. Moreover, there was no disgraceful 
outburst, no noise. With a glance the expert 
counted the workmen, appraised the pieces in 
construction, and took notes. The investigation 
ended, Dubigeon asked, — 

“ Can I see the books ?” 

“ That is the department of the secretary, the 
Marquis de Bernaz,” said Fischel, smiling now 
in his turn. 

The notary did not insist. When they reached 
the street, with a gesture of anger, he muttered 
to himself, — 

“ He holds one hostage, the dog !” How could 
he fire on him? The name of Bernaz would 
appear coupled with FischeFs in the courts. 
Dubigeon was deceived in telling himself that 
the inventor held one hostage. In truth, he held 
two, as Chantal was soon to discover. Helion 
returned from England, but his visit to Savoy 
was not spoken of. Upon this weak and ill- 
formed mind Fischel concentrated all his efibrts. 
He did not yet dare to tell this young man that 
his mother was an unnatural wife, but he insinu- 
ated that she was a vixen, obstinate, intractable, 
causing underhandedly many difficulties. 

“ You are no longer a child, and it is impossible 
for you not to see that between your parents the 
relations are strained. Your father is unhappy, 
to say nothing of the money troubles and law- 


100 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


suits to which he is liable from day to day. The 
Savoy wind blows him all the evils. Is this the 
moment for you to go there? Do not incur 
the risk of increasing the misunderstanding, of 
sharpening the chagrin, of becoming involved 
in the blame. Is it not better to remain neutral 
until peace is established, which will be soon ?” 

Helion obeyed in silence, though not without 
regret, and believed that in not going to see his 
mother he was remaining neutral. To be per- 
fectly just, he did not believe that he was loved 
as much as he was. Ko one had told him of the 
Marquise’s visit to Paris, of which, in truth, she 
did not herself boast. All in all, it was easy for 
Helion to believe that at Beauvoisin they were 
quite content without him. So he wrote that 
his course had begun ; that the shortest absence 
would compromise his examinations. Then, 
without further reflection, he plunged into his 
studies, which, in truth, occupied him seriously. 
Cut to the heart by this abandonment of her 
son, Chantal committed the fault of showing her 
indignation more than her sorrow, at the same 
time she wrote to Fischel that he had failed to 
keep his promise.. 

“ You have broken the truce,” was the an- 
swer. “ Your allies have harassed and brought 
discredit upon us. War is declared, and you 
cannot hope to enjoy the beneflts of peace.” 

She replied, and her courage was exhausted in 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


101 


an epistolary quarrel with the most crafty and 
indefatigable of correspondents ; added to which 
there was her son’s silence. She lived at Beau- 
voisin as a recluse, overwhelmed by the sutfering 
which injustice had caused her, but in the up- 
rightness of her soul still believing that certain 
injustices, even though they are monstrous, can 
be only transitory. She experienced again the 
monotony of a long Savoy winter in the com- 
pany of an old man who commenced to show 
signs of ennui in her presence. She feared that 
the Chevalier might speak of Helion or Maxime, 
but he had said once for all, “"When I have 
nothing good to say of people, I invariably keep 
silent.” 

As miserable as this peace was, however, which 
resembled the peace of the dead, Chantal was 
destined to regret it. One day Dubigeon pre- 
sented himself and begged the honour of an in- 
terview with the Chevalier and his niece. 

“ I do not believe,” said he, “ that I overstep 
my duty in affirming that the Marquis de Ber- 
naz is consummating his ruin. He is drawing 
all his money from the account in my care. 
Very soon it will beggary for him, for his son, 
and for his wife.” 

"Whereupon the motor enterprise and Max- 
ime’s position in the concern were explained. 

“ "What are inventors and inventions to me ?” 
said the old Beauvoisin, shrugging his shoulders. 

9 * 


102 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


“To you, personally, nothing. Monsieur le 
Chevalier. But your nephew is serving to make 
dupes of others, after having been duped him- 
self. Circular notes are given him to sign which 
morally hind him. What will become of his 
reputation in the province the day when the 
truth shall come out ? And I fear this day is 
not far otf.’’ 

“ Enough, Duhigeon V’ exclaimed the old man, 
his hands trembling with anger ; . “ I cannot help 
it, neither can my niece.” 

“ I am not of that opinion. Monsieur le Che- 
valier. You can at least make the public under- 
stand the rdle. that your nephew has played un- 
consciously in the adventure.” 

“ By what means, if you please ?” 

“ By applying in the courts to have a guardian 
appointed; and I come to implore you to do 
so.” 

Monsieur de Beauvoisin raised his arms to 
heaven. Chantal remained immobile, but the 
lines with which her face was seamed were deep- 
ened by anguish. iN'evertheless the first blow 
had been struck, and Dubigeon continued his 
discourse. He showed that the present surviving 
members of the Bernaz family had been left in 
their uncle’s charge, which fact, considering the 
character of the said uncle, was sure to carry 
weight. 

“ Should I have a guardian appointed for 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 103 

Maxime, all the province would turn their backs 
on me,” feebly responded the Chevalier. 

“ Would you prefer that they should throw 
stones at him when he shall return to Savoy ? 
Understand that the step which I propose has 
nothing dishonourable in it. Should the Mar- 
quis become blind, which God forbid, would you 
hesitate to give him a guide to lead him ? What 
are we asking for him but a guide? Your 
nephew’s would not be the first case. Shall I 
• mention some names to you ?” 

The notary cited some half-dozen very honest 
if not quite capable men who lived under the 
maternal protection of the law. Chantal asked 
but one question, — 

Will that step permit me to see my son ?” 

“ Yes, Madame. Once the spring is exhausted 
and Fischel gone, you will see Helion at your 
pleasure, as well as his father.” 

The Chevalier, already impressed, withdrew, 
saying, “ I wish to reflect for a few days.” 

Alone with the Marquise, Dubigeon said, 
“ Madame, you have before you a duty of con- 
science. We are approaching, not ruin, for we 
are there already, but starvation. I resort to 
every ruse not to send money, but now you know 
the man who deceived you. To think that on 
your return from Paris you said to me, ‘ This 
Fischel is not a bad man !’ ” 

Toward the end of the week Monsieur de 


104 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Beauvoisin signed a memorandum which would 
precipitate active hostilities against his nephew. 
This document, Dubigeon’s work, naturally did 
not exhibit Maxime as a model of perspicacity 
or of demeanour. There was a long paragraph 
concerning the contract with Fischel, whom, by 
the way, Dubigeon did not spare. The inventor 
was handled without gloves, for the epithet “ ad- 
venturer’’ was associated with his name. This 
freedom of style was soon to cost one innocent 
being dearly. 

For several months the law proceedings went 
on almost unknown to the Chevalier and the 
Marquise. Dubigeon, in his office, moved all 
the pieces of the judicial chess-board. So the 
summer and autumn wore away, and Chantal 
might have asked herself if she still had a hus- 
band and son living. ]!To news reached her of 
anything nor anyone. The public, on the con- 
trary, were becoming warm partisans for or 
against one or the other. The investigation 
was finally finished, and the report circulated 
that Maxime de Bernaz was in great danger of 
having a guardian appointed. 

One November morning a telegram signed 
“ Fischel” came for Chantal, making an appoint- 
ment “ on urgent business” at a small hotel in 
a town not far from her uncle’s residence. 
"Without telling anyone, she hurried thither on 
foot, dreading to hear of some catastrophe, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


105 


mortally troubled ; for she began to fear Fischel 
as an evil genius gifted with supernatural power. 
As in the previous year, she found, to her surprise, 
a quiet man, master of himself, almost smiling, 
who said to her, in a light tone, — 

“ Well, you did not follow my advice for very 
long. What have you gained by it ? Do you 
see your son any oftener V’ 

Il^'o ; but I have saved him from starvation. 
I hope he is happy, even without me.” 

“How could he be happy while he carries 
in his heart the bitterness of judging you — 
severely.” 

“ He judges me ? the poor boy ; but on what 
can he judge me ?” 

“ On your actions, Madame ; on the words 
you have written. He has read the lines signed 
by you which drag his father in the mire.” 

“ It is a lie ! Is it dragging a man in the mire 
to call him weak, narrow-minded, to admit that 
he is fond of pleasure and manages his fortune 

badly ; that he gives his confidence 

“ To an adventurer ? On my own account I 
refrain from dwelling on the word. It does not 
touch me, but it infuriates Helion because of his 
affection for me. For two years your son has 
lived between his father and his father’s friend. 
How have you treated both ?’^ 

Chantal did not understand that she had be- 
fore her a beleaguered commander, pressed by 


106 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


famine, wlio, to save himself, resorted to all the 
stratagems of war. For an hour Fischel played 
with her as a cat does a mouse, torturing her in 
all sorts of ways; first pointing out her son’s 
condemnation, then pricking her conscience with 
the arguments of the casuist, again cajoling with 
promises, not even recoiling before threats, 
making the chords of tenderness vibrate in one 
last perfidy. 

“ You suffer, Madame. Do you think you are 
the only one to suffer ? Ah ! it needs hut a word 
to dissipate all these clouds, to bring Helion back 
to you. One word, not of repentance but of 
regret, — it would calm Maxime. It would dis- 
arm the filial susceptibilities of a young man 
who adores his father, without his having to lose 
any of his tenderness for you. How often he 
has said to me, ‘ My mother wishes to keep me 
from starvation. Alas ! which is the worse, to 
he without bread or without a mother V ” 

Antonin was too good a player not to win the 
game. 

“I can hear no more,” said the Marquise, 
wiping her tears. “I will accept any condi- 
tions, hut I cannot continue this existence.” 

“Who could speak of conditions,” protested 
Fischel, with an unctuous air, “ when it is the 
question of a wife and mother ? Ah ! if I could 
only show Maxime some words which would 
soften him. I know his disposition. Your son 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


107 


would take the next train to throw himself into 
your arms, and perhaps all the miseries and scan- 
dals we fear for the future would he avoided.” 

“ Very well,” sighed Chantal, ‘‘ I will write, — 
but what? My ideas are chaotic. You must 
assist me.” 

Apparently Antonin only waited for this re- 
quest. He had with him — no doubt by accident 
— paper and ink. He put a pen into the Mar- 
quise’s hand and dictated. The unfortunate 
Chantal, vaguely conscious of her humiliation, 
saw the words beneath her pen pass as shadows. 
After all, what mattered the words, since she 
was writing to her husband ? 

“And now,” she asked, after signing her 
name, “ when will you allow me to see Helion ?” 

“Madame,” replied Fischel, “once your son 
was just leaving to come to you, when your 
friend Dubigeon obtruded himself. We are re- 
turning to the point where we were. To-morrow 
morning, if we do not lose time, I shall be with 
Maxime ; for the rest, count on me.” 

Chantal returned to her uncle’s, already count- 
ing the minutes, smiling in advance at the sur- 
prise which the unexpected appearance of Helion 
would cause the Chevalier, as he was in ignorance 
of the step Fischel had taken. On the morning 
of the third day she trembled as she saw a hired 
carriage ascending the hill, a most unusual oc- 
currence. Who could it be but the longed-for 


108 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


son ? How prompt he was, and Fischel had kept 
his word ! 

It was Dubigeon, however, whose visits Chan- 
tal began to dread. If only some pretext could 
have been found not to see him ; hut even as she 
was hunting for one, she was summoned by her 
uncle. On the Marquise’s entrance the notary 
rose, hut beneath his outwardly respectful bear- 
ing there was hidden a deep exasperation. Then, 
in a trembling voice, he asked,— 

Would Madame la Marquise kindly tell me 
if she recognises the authenticity of this revoca- 
tion which was served on us yesterday ?” 

“A revocation?” exclaimed the Chevalier, 
dumfounded. 

“ It is nothing more nor less,” answered the 
notary, ‘‘than a retraction, a sort of apology 
which the Marquise has addressed to her hus- 
band. I doubt if he has seen it, especially as 
Fischel sprung this document on our business 
managers the same day it was dated.” 

Chantal held the paper without reading it, and 
understood into what an infamous trap she had 
fallen. With a shiver of disgust on her lips, she 
answered, — 

“ This man made me believe that Helion would 
come ” 

“Quite enough,” said the notary. “We do 
not need now to see our judges and lawyers. 
The moral effect of this document crushes us; 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


109 


the game is lost. But how win against adversa- 
ries who play false cards ?” 

‘•You believe that Helion will not come?” 

With a sign Dnbigeon expressed an energetic 
reply. At this moment the Chevalier’s voice 
was heard. He had finished reading the copy 
of the letter signed by Chantal. In a great state 
of excitement, he said, — 

“I did not expect to be abused by the one 
whom I sheltered beneath my roof. So then 
you have described yourself as ‘ a poor, ignorant 
woman, misled by the advice of an intriguing 
lawyer and an old man, who is well known for 
his exaggerated ideas.’ That is how we stand. 
You, Dubigeon, are an intriguer; I, an old fool. 
And it is the Marquise de Bernaz who asserts it. 
You are quite right, my friend ; nothing remains 
for us to do hut throw up the game.” 

Chantal scarcely seemed to hear. Dubigeon, 
who was regarding her with a respectful pity, 
made a sign to the Chevalier, who did not wish 
to see anything. His anger instead of calming 
increased with each word. He continued : 

“My niece, you forced me to declare war 
against my family, and now you have gone over 
to the enemy’s side. I suppose you understand 
what remains for you to do ?” 

“ What am I to understand ?” asked Chantal, 
raising her head, “ that my place is no longer in 
this house ?” 

IQ 


110 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘ It IS beside the man to whom you have made 
so many noble excuses, — your husband,” 

At these words Monsieur de Beauvoisin left 
the room with the air of a judge who has just 
pronounced sentence. The notary was thunder- 
struck and approached the Marquise as she, too, 
started to leave the room. 

“Madame, for heaven’s sake what are you 
going to do! You cannot take your uncle’s 
words seriously.” 

“ He has spoken with justice,” replied Chan- 
tal, casting around her a look, as though to say 
adieu to these walls, which had been a silent 
witness of her long sadness. “ To understand — 
and excuse me, one must be a mother. I will 
ask my uncle’s forgiveness. What can I say to 
you ?” 

“ Only to do me the honour of calling me your 
friend,— the friend of rainy days.” 

“If indeed you are my friend you will not 
refuse me one request. Give me one hour in 
which to do my packing, and then take me back 
to Chambery.” 

It was thus that the Marquise de Bernaz left 
Beauvoisin. Dubigeon warned the Chevalier 
through the door of the library, but he refused 
to take any steps to detain her, saying that, after 
all, a woman ought to live with her husband. 
The carriage took them both away. As it 
reached the foot of the hill the postman, who 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Ill 


was just ascending to the chateau, made a sign 
for them to stop. 

“ A letter for you, Madame la Marquise.” 

They drove on. Chantal exclaimed, — 

“ It’s from Helion ! — hut then, I cannot leave 
if he is coming.” 

Her hands trembled. It took some time to 
decipher one short page, and Dubigeon, who was 
looking at her, saw in her eyes that she had re- 
ceived one of those wounds which kill without 
causing a cry. 

At last she said, “Head.” Then, as if the 
exertion of living had overpowered her, she 
threw hack her head and seemed to sleep. 
Here is what Helion de Bernaz wrote to his 
mother : 

“ You would he mistaken in believing that I 
am detained against my will. • It is I who have 
refused and do refuse to see you. My reason 
for doing so is that you have injured my father, 
or, at least, you have attempted it, insulting at 
the same time the most loyal of men, who is our 
best friend. Your retractions come too late and 
are only one indignity more. I have ceased to 
have a mother. Adieu !” 

‘‘ That is Fischel, unadulterated, simon-pure,” 
said Dubigeon, shrugging his shoulders. ‘‘ ‘ Ee- 
traction,’ I recognise his style. As to the other, 
— he has been ordered to deny his mother, as he 
would have been ordered to write an exercise, 


112 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


and he has consented. I could not have believed 
him so lacking in intelligence.’’ 

Chantal showed hj a sign that she found the 
mere sound of a human voice insupportable ; so 
they fell into a deep silence. One would have 
said that both travellers were escorting the dead. 


CHAPTER XL 

Two or three months later, Dubigeon and the 
Marquise were talking together in the same 
convent garden which had witnessed her short 
hethrothal to Maxime. 

‘‘ Yes,” she was saying, “ I persist in my idea. 
I must earn my living, and I prefer to do so else- 
where than in France, where prejudices outlive 
everything else. Besides, ever since a certain 
day I have felt a desire for flight. I blame those 
who commit suicide. But if it is forbidden to 
desert life, it is permitted to change regiments, 
after too painful disappointments. Do you un- 
derstand me ?” 

Dubigeon by a gesture showed that he under- 
stood only too much. 

“ Well, Madame, I believe that you have found 
another regiment indeed. For it is a question 
of going to a fort in the midst of the Rocky 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


113 


Mountains, among savages. But at tlie same 
time consider the distance, — the Atlantic to he 
crossed, and more than three thousand kilometres 
of the American continent to travel over.” 

“ It is not far enough away,” sighed Chantal. 

Duhigeon then made known the object of his 
visit. A friend of his had married an American. 
She was a benevolent as well as a distinguie 
woman, and for a long time had given her friend- 
ship and confidence to Duhigeon. He had been 
to see her, and, without naming the Marquise de 
Bernaz, had told of her painful situation and her 
desire to leave France. He had just received a 
letter from his friend’s wife, Madame Gaspe, 
who, without full details, said she should like to 
see ‘‘ his protSgee.” 

Chantal did not hesitate. Two days later Du- 
bigeon presented her to the rich American as 
Madame Hertel, a widow without children, who, 
because of the reverses of fortune, was obliged 
to earn her own living. The two women talked 
some time together, and Chantal understood that 
she was being critically examined. Haturally, 
the examination resulted in her favour, and, 
without further reticence, Madame Gaspe de- 
clared the object of the negotiation. 

‘‘ One of my dearest friends,” she said, “ was 
married in America to Captain Burton at the 
time that T married in France. In a few years 
she died, leaving a little daughter. She has just 
10 ^ 


114 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


left tlie convent in Omaha to live in a fort of the 
hforthwest. Burton, who has since been pro- 
moted to colonel, is in command of this military 
post, hidden in a recess of the Rocky Mountains. 
You understand that it is nothing more nor less 
than a desert. So, under these conditions, Bur- 
ton, who is very rich, wishes a companion for 
his daughter, now fifteen years old. He wrote 
to me the other day that he preferred a French 
woman, to which I immediately replied there did 
not exist in all France one woman sufficiently 
courageous to live in Koutenai. My letter had 
scarcely gone when our friend Duhigeon arrived 
and spoke of you. Immediately I cabled Burton 
to know if he still persisted in his idea. The 
evening of the same day I received an affirmative 
reply. The decision now lies in your hands.’’ 

Chantal was on the point of accepting when 
the notary by a gesture stopped her. 

“ It appears to me that in all this we have not 
spoken sufficiently of Colonel Burton, and the 
subject has its importance to — Madame Hertel.” 

“My dear friend,” replied the American, 
“ you could take him with your eyes shut on my 
recommendation, as I would take Madame Her- 
tel on yours. We understand each other. Bur- 
ton is fifty years old, and is a soldier to his fin- 
ger-tips. He could live most tranquilly in Hew 
York were he not passionately attached to the 
free, adventurous life of the far Western garri- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


115 


sons. I admit tliat I have not met him ten times, 
hut I can judge of him from the letters of my 
poor friend, whom he made the happiest of 
women. I will add that he has a decided weak- 
ness for France ; you see the proof of it.” 

So in a few hours all was concluded. Wishing 
to avoid being questioned, Chantal decided not 
to return to Chamhery, but to have her trunks 
sent to Lyons, where she would remain to com- 
plete her arrangements. Before Duhigeon left 
her she gave her will into his keeping, and said 
to him, — 

“You alone have my secret. I trust to you, 
as I would on my death-bed, to keep this secret 
from the world. Every month we will write to 
each other. K — the father or son should desire 
to know what has become of me, naturally it is 
to you they will address themselves. Wait, then, 
until you are questioned. Should either of them 
be ill, cable me, and if we should never see each 
other again, tell them my last words were, ‘I 
have never cursed anyone.’ ” 

Madame Hertel, as she will henceforth be 
called, departed at the end of a week. She 
reached Hamburg by Switzerland. Notwith- 
standing her courage, she did not feel equal to 
pass through Paris without seeing HMion. As 
the European land was fading away in the dis- 
tance she experienced the first anguish of the 
exile, but so much was she diverted by her 


116 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


surroundings that she found her nine days 
of crossing the least sad she had known for 
many months. For the first time she beheld the 
ocean. Blessed by fine weather, she experienced 
no sea-sickness, but only a strange numbness 
which deadened thought. With wise premedita- 
tion she approached some well-bred Americans, 
whose conversation increased her familiarity 
with the language, and served as a preparation 
for the surprises she would meet on landing. 
Arrived at York, she telegraphed to the 

fort, and, feeling more rested than on her de- 
parture, immediately took the train for Koutenai. 

In this curious hotel on wheels she spent four 
days and five nights, still more astonished than 
she was on the steamer by this bizarre existence. 
Gradually the scenes which passed before her 
eyes prepared her for the final impression of 
her journey. 

After leaving Yew York, especially after 
Chicago, each mile passed robbed the scenery 
successively of the features of civilisation. The 
marble in building had been succeeded by stone, 
the stone by brick, the brick by wood. This 
wood at first varnished, carved, had finally be- 
come mere boards roughly painted. Here and 
there in the midst of unfinished settlements was 
the rude log hut formed of tree-trunks. Finally, 
on the slopes of ravines equal in height to the 
famous peaks of Switzerland, was seen the 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


117 


miner’s encampment, formed of mud, brandies 
of trees, and canvas, which represented the last 
type of human abode. Man also had become 
only a half-civilised being, ragged and hideous 
to see. And the first appearance of the Indians, 
feverish and shivering beneath their blankets, 
scarcely astonished the exile. Then, for the 
first time, she realised what she was on the 
point of performing, — a veritable act of despair. 
She felt herself facing a martyrdom which could 
no longer be escaped, even by apostasy. In a 
word, she was afraid. At this moment a fellow- 
traveller pointed to a brook which ran beside 
the track, through a mossy and flowerless prairie. 
“ See, the water runs along with us now ; we 
are going down grade towards the Pacific.” 
The idea that she had just leaped the great bar- 
rier which separated two worlds wrung her 
heart. She pictured to herself what would 
happen should death suddenly overtake her, and 
reflected, — 

‘‘ Those who would dig my grave in this desert 
would even be ignorant of my true name. But 
of these men, which one would spend one hour 
in burying me ?” 

Her eyes sought for one sympathetic face 
among her travelling companions. Very few 
who had started from Hew York still remained 
in the Pullman car. She saw some Western 
men board the train, strapping fellows, wearing 


118 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


enormous felt hats, talking in a loud voice, and 
ignoring the presence of others. ITearly always 
there was to be seen beneath their waistcoats 
the butt of a revolver. The strangest conversa- 
tions reached her ear, interspersed with words 
totally unknown to her. Often it was a tale of 
fighting and death in a saloon or a gambling-den, 
or at the opening of a mine, with the funeral 
praise contained in these words : 

“Well, so the poor fellow died with his boots 
on.’’ 

What must an encampment of soldiers be in 
such a country ? What must the license of such 
a camp be in the midst of a population ignorant 
of all laws, human and divine ? What would a 
soldier, a colonel be? Alas, what could the 
daughter of this colonel be ? 

The reaction in her moral being was so great 
that, had it been possible, she would have turned 
back. But she did not possess enough money to 
return to France. And why should she prefer 
the exile of Beauvoisin to the exile of Koutenai ? 
A mother is always an exile in a place where she 
cannot see her son. 

As she sat lost in these reflections the negro 
Pullman porter roused her by calling out, “ Kou- 
tenai, next station.” This brave, gray-haired 
man, an old slave, emancipated by the war, pos- 
sessed nothing of the arrogance of the young 
negroes of to-day. He was respectful, kind- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


119 


iiearted, and had taken a fancy to this stranger 
whose common life he had shared for half a 
week. Chantal had begun to understand some 
words of his plantation French. In looking at 
him he brought to her mind ‘‘Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin,” the reading of which in her girlhood 
had so often melted her in tears. With a melan- 
choly smile she said to herself, “ To find so old 
a friendship it would he necessary for me to 
travel two thousand leagues.” And behold she 
was going to lose even this humble friend, to he 
cast into the unknown world of the fort and its 
inhabitants. This anguish, slight as it was, 
completed her discouragement and overflowed 
the cup. Her eyes for the first time were moist. 
How she would have thanked God had some one 
notified her that she should he obliged to spend 
some days, some months, in this rolling house, 
which was her only home ! From this one she 
had not been driven away. Certainly she had 
suffered here, hut only through memory. 

The train stopped, and Chantal alighted on the 
wooden platform of a station a little less miser- 
able than the preceding ones. At first it seemed 
as though the hoards rocked beneath her feet, she 
had become so accustomed to the oscillations of 
the Pullman. The old negro deposited “ Missus’s” 
baggage on the platform, and having found out 
from her conversation that she was going to the 
fort, he pointed to an approaching officer. 


120 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ This is Co’nel Bu’ton,” said he, with a smile 
of satisfaction expanding his honest face. 

The traveller slipped a piece of money in the 
negro’s hand and these two friends said au revoir. 
With his white hair, his drooping black mous- 
tache, and his serious air, the colonel gave the 
idea of a professor or a savant rather tlian of a 
military man. Of medium height, he wore the 
fatigue uniform of the infantry, a dark-blue 
cloth ornamented with black, a suit loosely 
fitting, rather civilian, which was brightened 
only by the gold stars of his rank. He bowed 
low to Madame Hertel, scanning her entire per- 
son with his gray eyes, in which one felt there 
was the habit of rapid inspection. But the 
frankness of George Burton’s look excused his 
rather American assurance. 

Chantal’s first impression was far from unfa- 
vourable. Without hesitation she took the hand 
which he extended to her, and replied to his 
cordial welcome, spoken in a mediocre but in- 
telligible French. 

“ Where are your checks ?” he asked, curtly. 

The word “ check” rather puzzled Madame 
Hertel, but finally she understood, and produced 
from her bag some brass pieces. The orderly, 
a fine-looking negro, five feet ten, presented his 
white cotton gloved hand for the checks. 

“How,” said Burton, “let us start at once. 
It is four o’clock, and we have a twenty-mile 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 121 

drive over a road which is not to he compared 
to jour roads in France.’’ 

They passed through a wooden building, and 
found an ambulance in waiting drawn bj six 
mules and driven by a soldier. A waggon 
served for the baggage. Several men stood at 
the door awaiting orders. Chantal and her 
companion installed themselves in the ambu- 
lance with military precision, and the mules 
started to trot. “This is the last stage before 
your home,” said George, dwelling on the last 
word with a hearty intonation. 

They followed a wide street bordered by 
wooden sidewalks and already traversed by 
electric cars. Other avenues, broad as French 
boulevards, cut it at right angles, having at 
the intersections rough posts marked with a 
name or figure. The ensemble of these roads 
formed a checker-board, with several vacant 
squares, showing by some tree-trunks recently 
cut three feet from the ground that the forests 
were just disappearing before civilised man. 
There were some buildings in brick to be seen, 
however, a large hotel, a bank, a club, and some 
churches. Two or three shops, the windows 
almost sumptuous, offered a list of all known 
merchandise. 

But the blocks for the most part were covered 
with small houses, which had sprung up like 
mushrooms while awaiting the advent of for- 
F 11 


122 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


tune wliicli would replace these primitive hovels. 
On each could he read a sign inviting the 
passer-by to enter. There were dry goods, guns, 
photographs, drugs, coffins, or musical instru- 
ments. In one shop more abject than the 
others, called “Parisian Laundry,” could be 
seen some Chinamen ironing shirts. At every 
hundred yards a saloon attracted the eye by red 
cotton shades. The whole was enlivened to a 
ridiculous extent by a profusion of advertise- 
ments; for the most part illustrated with huge 
faces and figures, which called the attention to the 
various products, covering everything, extend- 
ing even to the sheds. There was not a square 
inch which did not show labour, industry, and 
the desperate effort toward the “ mighty dollar 
not a physiognomy which did not evince will 
and courage. 

They left the little city, crossing a river over a 
bridge which yet awaited its parapet. As Chan- 
tal showed a little nervousness, the colonel said, — 

“Do not be afraid! You must get accus- 
tomed to it. With us the great point is to leap 
obstacles. A bridge is thrown across a river in 
a few days unprovided with hand-rails; it is 
even the symbol of our country. You French 
discuss the hand-rails first, and sometimes you 
forget the bridge. That is why I have always 
thought that our two countries could benefit 
each other.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


123 


“ They must know each other first,” said Chan- 
tal, smiling. If you only knew what ideas I 
had formed !” 

‘‘ So much the better ! You will have fewer 
deceptions. But might one ask what you pic- 
tured?” 

“ The contrary of the truth. Above all, I did 
not imagine that Colonel Burton would spend so 
many hours on the road to come and meet me.” 

“ I^onsense ! What is that to a woman accus- 
tomed to fine French gallantry ?” 

Madame Hertel sighed without replying, not 
caring to admit that she was far from being 
surfeited with gallant attentions. There was a 
pause in the conversation. They were rolling 
along in a monotonous plain covered with an 
extensive vegetation of wild sage, which spread 
out its mantle of verdigris tint as far as the eye 
could reach. There was no road, or rather it 
was replaced by the capricious ruts in the ma- 
hogany-coloured ground, dotted by the puddles 
of .water which the rays of an April sun had for 
the most part sucked up. To tell the truth, from 
this ambulance, closed in on all sides, very little 
could be seen, neither rain nor sun, nor even the 
character of the scenery. 

Here we are condemned to this rolling prison 
for four hours,” said Burton. “ Let us speak of 
a little body who interests me more than any- 
one else in the world, and who, I trust with all 


124 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


my heart, will interest you. Be so kind as to 
stop me if I repeat what Madame Gaspe has 
already told you.’’ 

‘‘ Oh, there is no danger of that, as she has 
not told me much, for the reason that I ques- 
tioned her very little. It was quite sufficient for 
me to know that I had confided myself to a good 
father and a gallant soldier. That this last 
compliment may not astonish you, I should have 
prefaced it with the information that my father 
was a soldier and died on the battle-field of 
Italy.” 

‘‘ That is like an affinity between us,” said the 
colonel, bowing. “My confidence henceforth 
will he still more complete. Besides, I have 
looked into your eyes. We are friends, are we 
not ?” 

For a reply, Madame Hertel extended her 
finely-moulded hand, and the colonel contin- 
ued: 

“I have known the greatest happiness and 
the greatest sorrows which the best of wives 
can give. She was rich, and refused many 
wealthy ofiers in iJlew York because of her love 
for me, a poor, insignificant officer. We lived 
for ten years out in the wilds, among compara- 
tive savages. You will soon know the life. Our 
child was born at Fort Logan, from which fact 
she takes her name, Logan Burton. When my 
bereavement came I placed her in a convent, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


125 


whence she has just returned, and, like her 
mother, she wishes to share my lot. She is 
simple, credulous, brave, hut, alas! she some- 
times frightens me by her enthusiasms. I 
forewarn you that you will probably become 
greatly attached to her; you have never had 
any children?” 

‘‘Yes,” replied Chantal, as her countenance 
suddenly fell, “I have had one son. But let 
us return to Miss Logan. Is her education 
finished ?” 

“ She knows a good deal. She is a funny 
little woman. When she was five years old she 
gave piano lessons to my major’s daughter, who 
was nine. If you could have seen her, with her 
mass of silvery blonde hair. Her mother called 
her ‘ Tow-head,’ and I call her so still, even 
though the silver has changed to gold.” 

“I fear I shall appear quite ignorant beside 
her.” 

“I do not wish a governess for her, hut a 
companion, — an almost second mother. If only 
you love music ” 

“Passionately. Formerly I played a great 
deal, but I have given it up.” 

“ Oh, my daughter will do enough for two. 
But she cannot play before what she calls an 
anti-musical person. And she is never mistaken. 
She pretends that she resembles these peculiarly 
sensitive tables which refuse to move for the 
11 * 


126 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


incredulous. I believe the two things she most 
detests in the world are — a lie and a false note. 

‘^We will agree on those points. Does she 
speak French ?” 

“Better than I, though that is not saying 
much. But that will he your province. You 
would be mistaken to believe that it was solely 
for French that I wanted you. I trust that she 
will adopt some of your ideas. But that will 
not be a matter of a day, for Logan carries the 
love of her country — which she has never left — 

to the verge of You have a word to express 

the blind love of one’s country 

“ Chauvinism.” 

“Yes, that is it. Well, my daughter is a 
‘ Chauvine.’ She is prouder of our history, 
which dates back only two hundred years, than 
you are of yours, which is counted by fifteen 
centuries. Do not conclude that she lacks judg- 
ment or intelligence. But she has one dangerous 
quality : she is sentimental.” 

“ I believed,” answered Madame Hertel, “ that 
Americans were never sentimental.” 

“Yes, I know. According to your novels 
and dramas, as also from the samples that you 
see in Europe, you believe that all our women 
and girls carry a nugget of gold in place of a 
heart. Wait a little, until you have seen our 
American in her natural state, not deformed by 
the whirlpool of Nice or Paris, or not demoral- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


127 


ised by the still more dangerous extravagance, 
perhaps, of N'ewport and 'New York. But here 
we are far from that influence. Behold, here is 
nature in her purity, still intact.” 

The vehicle had left the prairie, and was 
rounding the foot of a wooded hill while ascend- 
ing the border of a river. On a bed strewn with 
dark rocks the clear steely-gray waters flowed 
and made pretty foamy eddies. Here and there 
on the pedestals of a rock crooked branches of 
trees had grown and looked like great charnel- 
houses, lugubrious trophies of the battle of the 
wind and lightning with the giants of the forest, 
as old as the world. In France this silence 
evokes the idea of absence. Here, it seemed as 
if all human presence was unknown since the 
beginning of things. Suddenly over the stubble 
of the meadow there floated the first gauze of 
the nocturnal mist, some teepees raised their 
black cones, surmounted by a cloud of white 
smoke. Defiant, and as though filled with sad- 
ness at the sight of these strangers, who would 
soon exterminate the last Indian, the children in 
their red dresses suspended their play, while the 
old women, crouching in the door-ways of their 
huts, continued to smoke their pipes without 
turning their heads toward the ambulance. 

Occasionally they met an Indian of the en- 
campment clad in one of those costumes which 
to-day the squaws cut from the coverings dis- 


128 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


tributed by the government agent, as once they 
fashioned them from the skins of buffaloes and 
bears. Some, with a dissatisfied and sullen 
mien, were dragging along as though overcome 
by fatigue. Others were galloping on scrawny 
though vigorous horses. Some were fishing for 
trout, and seemed happy in having found their 
natural existence in watching for prey. The 
scenery, as well as the human beings, caused a 
sadness which was sure to impress Chantabs soul. 
Drawing her cloak around her as a protection 
from the sudden freshness of the night air, she 
tried to put a little order into her chaotic mind, 
which for two weeks past had been scarcely less 
fatigued than her physical being. She asked 
herself if the decision taken had been wise, if 
she was more or less unhappy than she had been 
for so many months and years. But this long 
voyage, which was just finishing, brought her to 
the end of her strength, she fell into a heavy 
slumber. 

She had slept for an hour when Burton’s voice 
made her start : 

“ Here we are !” 

Madame Hertel opened her eyes, not knowing 
whether she was waking up at Beauvoisin, in her 
cabin of the “ Columbia,” or behind the curtains 
of the Pullman car. The passing lamp-light 
suddenly blinded her. She looked through an 
opening and thought she was in a strange city. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


129 


They rolled over a very soft drive-way bordered 
by houses half hidden by evergreens. She saw 
the shining brass-work of the front doors ; the 
greater part of the windows emitted a bright 
light. Other lamp-lights sprang up out of the 
shadows, then before a house much larger than its 
neighbours the panting mules stopped. From 
the penumbra of a verandah the most pure, the 
most musical, the most joyfully sweet voice that 
Chantal had ever heard in her life sang out 
pleasantly, — 

“Halloa!’’ 

“ Halloa, Tow-head ! here we are at last,” re- 
plied Burton from the depths of the ambulance, 
“ I hope the dinner will not be delayed.” 

Two soldiers carrying lanterns approached, 
making the military salute to their commander. 
With the assistance of a nice-looking servant 
and a negro orderly as black as ebony, Madame 
Hertel descended from her place. Upon her 
father’s alighting. Miss Logan came out from 
the shrubbery of the porch and tenderly kissed 
him. At this scene Chantal with a pang thought 
that for two years she had not enjoyed the filial 
kiss, but Burton’s voice drew her from this sad 
revery. 

“Dear Madame, I present to you your new 
friend. I trust she may make you forget some- 
what the friends you have left on the other side.” 

Miss Burton, who changed as though by a 


130 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


magic wand into a very serious young lady, ap- 
peared to hesitate. Ought she to extend her 
hand in American fashion ? She concluded, un- 
der the circumstances, that one of the fine cour- 
tesies she had been taught to make at the convent 
was the most proper. Chantal could not control 
her voice, which trembled with emotion : 

“ I have left few friends in France. I hope to 
find some here, for indeed I need them.” 

Logan hesitated no longer. Her two hands 
grasped strongly the new-comer’s, and in the 
warm, vibrating touch Chantal felt the sympa- 
thetic current which emanates from certain be- 
ings. It was sufficient to give her courage. As 
though she had listened to a long welcoming 
speech, she replied with a heartfelt intonation, 
“ Thank you.” 

They entered first the spacious parlour, bril- 
liantly lighted by several lamps. The polished 
floor showed between large fur rugs which served 
for a carpet. White curtains shaded the win- 
dows ; mirrors, sketches, and photographs deco- 
rated the walls. The furniture was severer and 
scantier than in France; but two things of a 
widely different character prevented this rather 
bare room from being banal. The first, having 
the place of honour, was the regiment’s flag, un- 
furled, displaying its stars and rejoicing the eye 
by its brilliant colouring. The second, even 
more unexpected in such a place, was a superb, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


131 


quite new, concert grand piano. On every table 
there were flowers, a luxury none the less rare 
at an altitude of three thousand feet in the mid- 
dle of April. 

Madame Hertel’s eyes showed an agreeable 
surprise, which to Logan was the most precious 
of compliments. Enjoying this admiration, the 
young girl for the first time addressed the new- 
comer : 

“ Allow me to show you to your room.” Two 
minutes later she joined the colonel in the par- 
lour. 

“Well, what do you think of her?” asked 
Greorge Burton. 

“I do not judge my new acquaintances so 
quickly. At least she has not the defects com- 
mon to the Frenchwomen painted in books : she 
is not gushing. You saw she did not strangle 
me in her embrace, as I was afraid she would do ; 
and then she is not made up. Do you think her 
black hair is natural ?” 

“Humph!” replied Burton, without smiling; 
“ I should rather think it is a wig. All French 
women wear them, don’t they ?” 

Madame Hertel soon reappeared, and the 
number of her surprises continued when she saw 
on the table a luxury of crystal and silver such 
as she had never known. The varied dishes 
were excellent. As to the service, it was irre- 
proachable. The American officers are not per- 


132 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


mitted, like the French, to select their servants 
from the ranks. 

“ And now, dear Madame, tell us about your 
voyage.’’ 

“ With pleasure, provided I may he permitted 
to begin at the end. For twenty-four hours I 
have seen so many houses without windows, 
and so many men without neckties, that I ex- 
pected ” As Burton smiled she hesitated. 

“ Courage ; we are curious to know what sort 
of hospitality you expected.” 

“ I pictured to myself what I had read in chil- 
dren’s hooks : A sort of intrenchment made of 
earth, barracks formed of trunks of trees, a log 
house set apart for the commander and his fam- 
ily, scarcely furnished, and for food, biscuits 
and buffalo meat.” 

At this George burst into a frank and joy- 
ous peal of laughter, which was a pleasure to 
hear. “ Of course you expected a haunch of 
buffalo, the classic roast. By Jove, it would be 
a fine piece of luck to find one, and a fine round 
sum to pay for it. Follow my advice, Madame, 
distrust your books. You, too. Miss ‘Tow- 
head.’ ” 

At these words Chantal turned her eyes on 
the one thus nicknamed. Beneath a pure crown 
of gold, in the whiteness of an admirable com- 
plexion, two eyes, deep, searching, attracting like 
certain gulfs of limpid, azure water, emitted 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


133 


their light. But the prominence of a strong 
brow gave a striking intensity to the appearance 
of this blonde. A voice rich, but above all of 
an infinite justness of intonation, asked, — 

“And that is what you expected to find at 
Koutenai, and yet you were able to leave la 
belle France 

“Yes,” replied Chantal, simply; “because for 
me it was no longer la belle France’^ 

They had not been in the parlour five minutes 
when the bell rang. A tall officer entered the 
room with the ease of an habitue of the house. 
His full beard did not hide a large scar which 
extended to the nose and disfigured him. Burton 
said, in English, — 

“ Madame Hertel, I present to you my friend 
Major MacDuffi Be resigned to see him appear 
each day at the hour we are leaving the table. 
But he will come neither for you nor my daugh- 
ter. Were it not for the event of your arrival, 
ere this he and I would be in my den enjoying 
our pipes, and my daughter seated at her piano. 
I add that we have known, we and our pipes, 
some evenings less tranquil, notably that of the 
first day at Gettysburg. On the morrow this 
intrepid smoker would have had some difficulty 
in smoking his pipe, — for he no longer had a 
mouth. Fortunately, it has been re-made, — or 
nearly so.” 

For a reply the major placed his large hand 
12 


134 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


on his friend’s shoulder with a slight grunt of 
satisfaction, which was his manner of laughing. 
Burton continued in French, a language of which 
MacDuff was ignorant : 

“ You have before you a hero of the Army of 
the Potomac. His body is pierced like a sieve ; 
hut pretend not to know it. When you desire 
to please him, ask to he shown the club-house 
which he has built with his own money for the 
men. Ever since I have known the major I 
have asked myself which is the more remarkable 
in him, goodness or bravery, and I am still un- 
decided. Well, MacDuff [this in English], we 
shall no longer have any scruples in leaving my 
daughter alone. Congratulate her as well as 
myself on having found such a friend.” 

The two officers entered the adjoining room, 
but Madame Hertel, exhausted by fatigue, did 
not tarry long. Hardly was she extended on 
her bed when she experienced a peculiar sensa- 
tion. It seemed as though the whole house was 
oscillating like a vessel rocked by the waves. 
Seized with vertigo, she closed her eyes, which 
did not open again. Almost immediately she 
fell into the land of dreams. In a heavy slumber 
her illusive fancy reconstructed on the ground 
of the present. the home of her youth which 
had passed away forever. She fancied she was 
lying sick in her little bed in the Convent of 
Chambery, and the notes of the piano caressed 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


135 


by Logan, which vaguely reached her ears, had 
ceased to carry any definite melody. They had 
become the continual buzz of the pupils practis- 
ing in the music-rooms. And when the Ameri- 
can bugle sounded the joyous call of the reveille 
at dawn, already clear, the sleeper believed she 
heard, as she had every day for so many years, 
the trumpet of the neighbouring barracks. 


CHAPTEE XII. 

Chantal opened her eyes, and at first was 
surprised to find herself in a large chamber that 
the rosy beams of the rising sun had brightened 
into uncertain daylight through the gray paper 
shades. All the objects wore a strange, unfa- 
miliar form, and several seconds were needed 
for her to free herself from her dream. It was 
with a great shock that she plunged once again 
into the reality. The bugle she had just heard 
was that of Fort Koutenai. She was in America, 
at the base of the Eocky Mountains, two thou- 
sand miles from the ocean. She no longer had 
husband, son, home, or fortune. From this 
moment, like a common emigrant, she was 
earning her living under a false name. 

Her fatigue, which was still great, did not 


136 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


allow her to prolong these reflections. She 
dozed off again, frequently disturbed by a call 
of the trumpet, which forced her to realise the 
stern reality. A salute from a cannon made her 
start and thoroughly awakened her. The noise 
of voices and footsteps in the house, the fall of 
some heavy objects, indicated the arrival of her 
baggage. She got up so as to receive the men, 
and while the porters were mounting the stairs, 
she cast a first glance from the window, curious 
to see this fort, the existence of which thus far 
was known to her only through the ears. 

Spread out before her was a square of grass, 
cut and tended as carefully as a tennis court, 
seven hundred by two hundred and fifty feet. 
This square was regularly outlined by certain 
wooden buildings, pleasing to the eye in their 
coat of fresh russet-coloured paint. The two 
rows of houses to right and left were of only one 
story and seemed destined for the lodgement of 
the men, while taller houses were scattered here 
and there enclosing the esplanade at its extremity. 
A chapel with small spires agreeably set off* its 
white walls against a background of dark-tinted 
hills. The scenery was lacking in marked char- 
acter ; only one beautiful snowy peak ended the 
perspective and bespoke the neighbourhood of 
a chain of the Rocky Mountains. On each side 
the plain opened out without a sign of any forti- 
fication. iN'othing among the immediate objects 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


137 


gave the idea of a military post, with the excep- 
tion of four pieces of cannon resting on their gun- 
carriages and a flag-staff from which waved very 
high the United States flag. At the foot of the 
flag-staff a company was drilling. Uothing at- 
tracted the eye save the bright steel bayonets, 
for all light shades seemed interdicted, in the 
uniform as well as in the faces of the men, for 
this splendid body of soldiers was composed ex- 
clusively of negroes. 

At a few paces several nurses, clad in light 
gowns, were airing some children beneath the 
tepid kisses of the morning sun. Finally, some 
workmen in their brown blouses were sweep- 
ing and scraping the roadway and pruning the 
hedges. These men, in their soft felt hats drawn 
low over their eyes, seemed like gardeners be- 
longing to a private residence, well and luxuri- 
ously kept by its owner. 

Wishing to he punctual at breakfast, an- 
nounced for half-past eight, Chantal left the win- 
dow. And once more she was astonished to And 
Koutenai so different from what her imagination 
had pictured ; this tranquil, easy, regular life al- 
ready had a calming effect upon her, and in her 
morning prayer there was this thanksgiving (not 
less sad, perhaps, than a lament), that her suffer- 
ing had not equalled her expectation. 

In the dining-room Logan was carefully ar- 
ranging the flowers on the table with that intense 
12 * 


138 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


desire toward perfection wliich she showed in 
everything she did. But the first thing which 
attracted Chantafis eyes was the heavy golden 
braid which hung a foot below the young girl’s 
waist and threw out metallic lights in the dancing 
sunbeams. There emanated from the entire per- 
son of this blooming creature, whose rounded 
cheeks were almost infantile, a bright happiness ; 
it came from her very fair complexion, from her 
smallest gestures, especially from her eyes, which 
in the morning sunlight had become a pale blue. 
She smiled on perceiving Chantal, who for a 
moment had watched her unseen in her absorb- 
ing occupation. 

I hope you have slept well,” said the young 
girl. “ What a beautiful day to welcome you to 
the fort ! How I love these pure mornings ! 
But I love the first hours of the day ; it is our 
best time. Each morning is a new birth which 
we enjoy, while we had no joy at the first birth. 
I believe they get up late in Paris ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Chantal ; “ let me tell 
you I am anything but a Parisian.” 

“ So much the better ; but to me, you know, all 
Frenchwomen are Parisians. France is so little.” 

“ Well, Tow-head, I have caught you,” said the 
colonel, entering at this moment. “ Here you 
are again slandering other nations. You must 
excuse her, Madame Hertel. Have you slept 
well ? lam famishing !” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


139 


Logan pressed a bell. Immediately the ser- 
vant covered the table with dishes. Eggs, fish, 
lamb cutlets, and potatoes were served at the 
same time, and it was not yet nine o’clock in 
the morning. Out of politeness Chantal ac- 
cepted a trout while waiting for her cafe an lait, 
which Miss Burton prepared with a nicety, for- 
getting to breakfast herself. As for eating meat 
in the morning with eyes scarcely opened, that 
Madame Hertel found more difficult; so she 
excused herself. 

“ All right,” said George, only wait a week. 
The air of the Eockies will convert you.” 

Logan followed her father’s example in a fine 
appetite. The meal commenced with oatmeal 
and marmalade and ended with delicious griddle- 
cakes, served with maple syrup, a national dish. 
The morning finished with a visit to the camp, 
and Chantal was not yet at the end of her sur- 
prises. All these soldiers were lodged, clothed, 
and shod better than a sergeant-major is in 
France. The long tables in the mess-room were 
covered with an oil-cloth as white as snow, and 
the forks and spoons were as bright as silver. 
At the club there were billiard- and card-tables, 
as well as a library. On the esplanade there 
was an enclosure for foot-ball. Finally, in a sort 
of suburb, hidden by the administration build- 
ing, were found a saw-mill, a slaughter-house, a 
bakery, the stables for the horses and mules, 


140 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


with a few workshops. At the extreme limit 
several small houses served as dwellings for the 
sergeants and their wives, the greater part of 
whom were employed as laundresses. As they 
neared a rustic bridge over a river which skirted 
this part of the fort, they met a small body of 
men in fatigue uniform carrying the carcass of a 
stag. 

“ Here are our hungers,” said Burton. ‘‘ They 
have been five days in the mountains. I always 
have two or three parties out. They get train- 
ing by it, besides serving as scouts, and keep us 
informed as to what the Indians are doing.” 

“ But do they never desert ?” asked Chantal. 

“ Ho ; I have never known more faithful men 
than the negroes. Besides, volunteer troops are 
not likely to desert, especially when they receive 
thirteen dollars a month.” 

“ God grant,” answered Chantal, “ that you 
may for a long time to come be content with 
an army of twenty-five thousand men. How 
this figure makes us reflect, we who see Europe 
being killed by the disease of too numerous 
armies !” 

On their return home they followed <‘the 
line,” in other words, the streets bordered on 
one side by the dwellings of the staff. They 
passed several young women already out ex- 
changing visits or walking with their children. 
They met two ladies on horseback returning 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


141 


from an excursion, wliose bright looks and rosy 
complexions bespoke their satisfaction in living. 
It was easy to see from the graciousness of 
the smiles and bows that Logan was a great 
favourite. 

In the afternoon the ladies of ‘‘ the line’’ called 
with their husbands to pay their respects to 
Madame Hertel ; Burton assisted at this recep- 
tion, presenting each one, and kept up a flow 
of fun by his humorous sallies. Pointing to 
a young lady who had just entered with her 
parents, he said, — 

“ Here is a flne example of the irony of fate : 
Miss Payne is the only unmarried woman in the 
garrison, and I possess but one bachelor ofiicer ; 
but this good-for-nothing fellow is engaged to a 
young lady in Hew York, which renders Miss 
Payne quite inconsolable so long as she remains 
with us.” 

"What an idea !” replied the young lady, ban- 
teringly. ‘‘I count upon promotion; besides, 
I have the major and the — colonel.” 

“ Oh,” said Burton, in the same tone, were 
I not burdened with a big daughter of flfteen, 
you would already have heard something from 
me. As to MacDufi*, the greatest coquettes in the 
East and West have tried to tree this old rac- 
coon. I put him out of the list of animals to be 
hunted. Bo not count upon him. Miss Payne.” 

All these women seemed very happy to live 


142 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


in Koutenai. The conversation was always 
lively, interesting, and not commonplace to 
Madame Hertel. hfever had she received so 
many visits in one single day, and believing, as 
she did, that she had sought isolation as a moral 
suicide in the midst of a desert, this ever-new 
truth struck her forcibly: “It is always the 
unexpected which happens/’ The major was 
punctual at the accustomed hour after dinner. 
Madame Hertel already experienced a pleasure 
in his appearance which she would have felt in 
that of a very old friend. They exchanged only 
polite phrases, for the hero seemed diffident. 
When the gentlemen had disappeared in the 
colonel’s den, Logan suddenly grew nervous and 
restless, steadily turning her eyes toward a cor- 
ner of the room. At last she said, “ My dear 
piano, I have not talked with you the whole 
day. What can you think ?” She had already 
opened the instrument, the keys of which she 
kissed, becoming serious and thoughtful as a 
priest who kisses the altar where he is about to 
accomplish the sacred rites. Her eyes were 
veiled beneath the shadow of thought, her broad 
forehead appeared heavy and bent over the 
keys; then a melody, very simple, a veritable 
song, moved by a fervent and vibrating passion, 
escaped from chords caressed rather than struck. 
This fragment was followed by a second, then a 
third. They were all varied, but each in its way 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


143 


was a masterpiece, and each thought of the 
author was interpreted on these keys as though 
spoken by human lips. Frequently, in fact, the 
young girPs lips trembled ; evidently time and 
place no longer existed for her. Suddenly she 
stopped, her hands vibrating, her cheeks brightly 
coloured, as though she had just accomplished 
one of those feats of strength which are the 
pride of young amateur pianists. Turning to 
Madame Hertel, whose presence up to now she 
had seemed to ignore, she exclaimed, — 

‘‘What delight! We are in musical sympa- 
thy. Each note is sent hack to me with an 
irreproachable justness like an echo. ISTow it 
is finished, you are no longer a stranger. Just 
think ! it is impossible for me to play five min- 
utes for some people who have known me ever 
since I was horn : the major, for example.” 

As she spoke the person thus musically ostra- 
cised opened the door. 

“Logan,” he said, “your father wants you. 
I am afraid he has had news from the kitchen.” 

Alone Tvith the major, Chantal expressed her 
admiration. 

“ This child could become one of the great 
artists of the world. She has the supreme gift 
of absorbing into her heart each phrase that she 
plays and giving it to others. It is astonishing 
to see such depth, such thought, in a fifteen- 
year-old brain.” 


144 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘ Oh,” said the major, she will become the 
best of women, which is better. You do not 
know her yet. Her goodness will surprise you 
more than anything else.” 

“Well, if it was only a question of surprises; 
I have had nothing else for twenty-four hours, 
I pictured Logan as a young warrior, always 
ready to leap on a horse bareback and to give a 
shot at the Indians. And here for one hour she 
has been playing Schumann, Chopin, Mendels- 
sohn, with a wonderful conception, on a piano 
of six thousand francs. And her father, — I ex- 
pected to see a noisy giant, rather too picturesque 
in his language, half a Pirate of the Savrane 
and half a ranger of the woods. Instead I find 
a man gentle, polished, carefully dressed, and as 
correct as an aide-de-camp of a minister,” 

“ Do not trust to that, Madame, Some of us 
who have been able to see this little man ‘ gentle 
and tranquil’ at work would tell you he is terri- 
fying in the midst of powder. But, please, never 
speak of it. Logan would faint with horror if 
she knew what work her father’s small, white 
hands have sometimes done.” 

“Very well,” said Chantal. “I have already 
learned that one must know how to keep silent 
at the fort ; so rest easy, Major MacDuff.” 

The colonel entered the parlour. 

“ Here is some news : Bose, our negro cook, is 
sick. You must not count upon seeing Logan 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


145 


this evening. She is happy now, for she has 
some one to doctor. Good-night, MacDuff. I 
trust, Madame, you will rest well.” 

The next morning at half-past eight the break- 
fast was smoking on the table. Miss Burton, as 
lively as a bird and as red as a peony, was ar- 
ranging her flowers. Her father, who entered at 
the same time as Chantal, said, with a bantering 
air, — 

“ Well, ‘ Tow-head,’ must we assemble a court- 
martial to judge you? Have your remedies 
killed the cook ?” 

“ Ho, colonel ; she is better and will get the 
dinner.” 

“ So it is we who will be poisoned by your 
cooking this morning ?” 

My cooking fears no judge, even in Hew 
York.” 

Madame Hertel cast a glance at the dishes, 
numerous and flne in appearance. 

“ What, Logan ! you cooked this breakfast ?” 

“I had to,” replied the young American, 
evidently amused by this surprise. “ And if the 
fort baker had been unable to furnish the rolls, I 
should have replaced him as I did the cook.” 

She saw that Madame Hertel regarded her as 
an object of curiosity. Then feigning herself to 
be surprised, she asked, — 

“ Do you mean that French girls do not know 
how to cook or make bread ?” 

Q k 13 


146 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ They have not the time. They are obliged 
to learn so many other things/’ replied Chantal. 

“ Take care, you will mortally wound our im- 
promptu cook. She is too well brought up to 
answer you that she knows a little of chemistry, 
physics, astronomy, and medicine, without men- 
tioning that she can read Yirgil in Latin. If I 
had had a son, Logan would have been his first 
instructor. But God, who has given me the best 
of daughters, has not given her a brother.” 

He grew silent and sighed, then quickly 
added : 

“ I beg your pardon ; I forget that you are still 
less happy since you are alone in the w^orld. 
Sometimes, however, children cause frightful 
anxiety.” 

“ So I have heard,” answered Chantal, sadly, 
whose eyes were bent on the table-cloth. After 
a few seconds of silence she raised her head and 
encountered Logan’s eyes fixed on her like two 
belated stars among the rosy clouds of morning. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Rapidly Chantal’s new existence shaped itself 
into a regular course. These three beings, fated 
to live together, were so fortunate as first to 
understand, then judge one another with a well- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


147 


merited esteem, in whicli was blended perfect 
confidence. Burton, relieved from sentry duty 
(as he called it), regained his liberty, sure that 
his daughter was in good hands. He had in a 
sort of way installed Madame Hertel at her post 
with this speech : 

“ I consider it a lucky day when you crossed 
my threshold. My daughter has found what I 
wished for her, a second mother. You have seen 
that her education is more complete, her judg- 
ment better formed, than is usual at her age. 
She has inherited from her race a love of inde- 
pendence, happily redeemed by intelligence and 
good sense. It is not a guardian that I wish to 
give her, but a truly devoted and sincere friend. 
She needs to love and be loved ; so do you, that 
is easy to see. Courage, and may we all three 
yet know happiness.” 

It took some time for Madame Hertel to be 
assured that it was independence and not the 
desire to estrange herself that she had noticed in 
her pupil. Every day Logan would shut herself 
up in her room for one or two hours, employed 
in reading, studying, or writing letters, of which 
evidently her father did not exact any account. 
She directed the household with a sure hand, 
showing intelligence and attention, which took 
the place of experience. All her words and acts 
were marked by a freedom, a frankness, not less 
than by a severity of principles and opinions, 


148 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


wliich astounded Chantal, who was accustomed 
to picture the young American girl in another 
light. For this child's conscience the word duty 
was an irresistible and never-to-he-discussed 
argument. What most surprised Madame Her- 
tel was to hear Logan speak of the future and 
marriage with a simple and confident serious- 
ness, when a well-brought-up French girl, in 
her opinion, would pretend that a husband was 
scarcely a possibility for her. One day Chantal 
asked, — 

“ Will you marry an army officer ?” 

“Most probably,” Logan replied; “but one 
can never foresee what manner of man one will 
love or he loved by. Besides, I am cured of 
that habit. A girl at school said to us last year, 
‘ There are three kinds of men I never would 
marry, — a red-headed man, a little man, and one 
who wears spectacles.’ Well, they write me she 
is engaged to an engineer whose hair is as red 
as a European squirrel, about as tall as an um- 
brella, and as blind as a mole. 'No doubt she 
imagines herself in love with another Apollo.” 

Madame Hertel laughed, and after a moment’s 
reflection Logan added : 

“ ITevertheless, I do dare affirm that I shall 
never marry a Frenchman.” 

“ Why not, pray ?” 

“ Oh, well, they always marry for money and 
make detestable husbands.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 149 

“Yes, sometimes, — ^but it is not an absolute 
rule. Is not Madame Gaspe bappy 

“Yes; but she did not marry an idler. It 
is so rare to find a Frenchman who works. 
To think that every year scores of Americans 
marry for the sake of having a coronet on their 
linen ! Is it, then, so pretty ?” 

“You have never seen any?” asked the 
crownless Marquise, smiling to herself as she 
thought of the trouble she had taken to rip 
out the mark from her own handkerchiefs. 
Logan concluded : 

“We are republicans ; why should we ape aris- 
tocrats ? It is so inconsistent, not to say more.” 

The conviction Logan threw into all her words 
gave an agreeable and refreshing sensation to 
Madame Hertel. She admired this simplicity, 
this frankness, and did not hurry to put more 
Frenchy ideas into her head. The mixture of 
this strong reason and this pure inexperience re- 
freshed her after the rough teachings of her own 
life. But above all she felt herself warmed in 
the smile of this young enthusiast. One day, as 
the conversation turned upon the picturesque 
nicknames of the Indians, Madame Hertel said, 
“ Were I your god-mother, according to the rites 
of the ‘Blackfoot,’ you should have been bap- 
tised ‘ Sunbeam,.’ ” 

“And I should have named you The Silent 
Wounded Bird.” 


13 * 


150 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


The weeks passed rapidly for Chantal, who 
would have found a great charm in this life but 
for the always-bleeding wound in her heart. It 
must be added that from the colonehs daughter 
down to the wife of the most insignificant officer 
every efibrt was made to show her Koutenai in 
its most agreeable aspect. She had been invited 
to dinner or luncheon in every house of “the 
line.” Then, as fine weather had come, every- 
thing served as a pretext for organising pleasure- 
parties, even the most ordinary excursions of the 
garrison. Parade was never missed, enlivened 
by the negro band which played the touching 
melodies formerly sung by their fathers in slavery 
on the old Virginia and Kentucky plantations. 
Tennis was begun after the long winter months. 
They watched the men playing foot-ball on the 
esplanade or indulged in target-shooting in 
some sequestered gorge, which necessitated a 
general picnic. The officers and even their 
wives contested skilfully with the best shots, but 
Logan always refused to join in these masculine 
sports. 

“I am not a sportswoman,” she would say. 
“ I find only too little time to practise my music.” 

The season was superb, and the excursions be- 
came of greater length. Hunting- and fishing- 
parties were organised, which did not tempt 
either Logan or “ Logan’s friend,” as Madame 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


151 


Hertel was generally called. Botli, however, 
consented to go and see a “ beef issue,” which 
was to take place in the Indian territory, some 
twenty-five miles distant. The caravan, quite 
large, consisted of carriages and horseback- 
riders. At an early hour they reached the 
“ city,” composed of a half-dozen frame houses, 
a church, a mission school, a hotel, — the mere 
exterior of which was horrible to see, — and five 
or six shops. But for the always famishing In- 
dian this comprehensive “ city” had the charm 
that the Rome of Augustus might display to the 
eyes of Tityrus. It was there he found the 
agent’s bureau, together with the stores and cat- 
tle-pens. It was there he found something to 
eat — sometimes. For the moment the desert 
which surrounded this small group of buildings 
was no longer a desert. The prairie-grass, usu- 
ally abandoned to the gambols of the gophers, 
disappeared beneath the teepees, for the most 
part built in the neighbourhood of the pens, 
which in a few hours were going to he emptied, 
to the great satisfaction of this army commanded 
by an invisible captain, — Starvation. 

To the warriors of the tribe the pen was the 
more interesting; to the women, the agency 
store. From early morning they had been form- 
ing in a line, beginning at the window from 
which, as through a mysterious cornucopia, the 
rations of fiour, soap, sugar, were already pour- 


152 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ing out, while blankets were accorded to each 
family. But, alas ! instead of the joy which one 
expected to see pictured on these faces, old and 
young, there were only to be read sadness, dis- 
illusion, oftentimes anger. For what the agent 
gives is always below the promised allowance. 
So it is everywhere ; in all the Indian agencies ; 
and, because of this injustice, too often the 
United States government, which intends to dis- 
tribute only harmless rations of soap and sugar, 
at the same time has distributed, not apparent 
at first, the seeds of hatred, despair, and rebel- 
lion. Very often this seed dies out, thank God, 
in these souls frozen by physical misery and 
moral abjection ; but sometimes the disastrous 
germs grow suddenly with a terrifying rapidity. 
It is the agent who first falls beneath the toma- 
hawk, then it is a few families of the white 
farmers who are massacred; finally, one or two 
thousand Indians in their turn are laid on the 
grass by the volleys from the troops sent to 
punish them. But how many brave soldiers, 
how many officers with bright expectations, ex- 
piate vdth their lives the crime of the one who 
has tried to become rich too quickly in this 
desert ! 

These reflections weighed heavily on Madame 
Hertehs soul while she was contemplating the 
distribution with the singular melancholy that 
the European new-comer is sure to experience at 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


153 


tlie sight of the Indian. She imparted this im- 
pression to MacDuff, who in the place of the 
colonel had escorted her and Logan. The major 
answered, — 

“ It is what yon would feel in the presence of 
a man condemned to death. The destiny of 
this race is to end soon. One-third of these 
marmots will never reach the twentieth year: 
consumption will kill them ; look at their 
mothers ; and God knows how many will fall 
beneath our shots in a rebellion.’’ 

“ Yes,” replied the Frenchwoman, “ when your 
arsenals cast a bullet you know in advance it 
will lodge in the body of a poor Indian, since 
these unfortunate beings are your only enemies 
— unless from civil war !” 

Everyone expected to see the major answer 
this attack, he, a patriot par excellence. But he 
always seemed to find some difficulty in replying 
to Madame Hertel. The blood mounted to his 
cheeks, but he kept silent. The wife of a lieu- 
tenant replied, softly, — 

‘^Madame Hertel is kind-hearted, and speaks 
accordingly. But if she, like myself, had seen 
a ‘poor Indian’ in an ambuscade, springing at 
the bridle of her horse, knife in hand, she would 
understand the service which certain leaden bul- 
lets render us.” 

“I hope,” said MacDufi*, who had finally 
found his tongue, “ never to see Madame Hertel 


154 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


converted by personal experience. But I invite 
her to honour with her presence the distribution 
of the live-stock. The sight will give her some- 
thing to reflect upon. Logan, will you come V’ 

A slight shiver passed over the young girl’s 
face ; she said, simply, — 

saw this spectacle last year. I prefer to 
visit the schools ; you will find me there.” 

She started away, and the other visitors from 
the fort directed their steps toward the pens 
where the ‘‘ beef issue” was going to take place. 
As though it were a question of exterminating 
a whole herd of buffaloes instead of only a 
wretched steer, emaciated by a too long confine- 
ment in the pen, two or three hundred Indians 
were in their saddles, guns in hand, trembling 
with excitement. For the want of something 
better to do a few youngsters were flourishing 
their bows and arrows, while some dogs which 
resembled wolves waited, panting, with their 
tongues hanging out. 

A dreadful spectacle began when the door of 
the pen was opened and the first animal came 
forth, the flesh of which was to be shared by 
three or four families. Instead of seizing and 
slaughtering the trembling victim, the men on 
horseback, longing, for more passionate emotion, 
indulged in the pleasure of a regular chase, 
which was soon to be changed into a barbarous 
orgy of unnecessary cruelty. Nothing was want- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


155 


ing in the torture, neither the dogs’ teeth nor 
the arrows which stuck in the muscles, nor the 
bullets which broke the hones, and finally the 
squaws’ knives carving the carcass, still palpi- 
tating with a spark of life. 

Scenes of the same kind were repeated on 
other victims. Madame Hertel, who was on the 
point of fainting, leaned heavily on MacDulPs 
arm. “ Oh, please, let us go away,” she sighed. 
‘^ITow I know why Logan would not come. 
God forbid that I should a second time witness 
such butchery.” 

“It is still worse when it is a question of 
butchering the white man,” replied the major, 
almost in a whisper. 

They walked away with rapid steps, fieeing 
from this spectacle, which after all was curious 
in its contrast, provided one could overcome his 
disgust: on one side these ofiicers, stiff and 
correct in their uniforms, the young women clad 
in light gowns, shaded by their parasols ; on the 
other these miserable human creatures, ragged, 
filthy, howling, growing mad with the excite- 
ment of the carnage. 

“ Forgive me,” said the major after an instant. 
“ How wrong I was to show you this scene ! I 
should have divined it was not for your eyes, for 
such a soul as yours is a sanctuary of justice. 
But do justice and truth reign undisputed in 
your country ?” 


156 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ Oh, no,” replied Chantal, with a particularly 
energetic motion of the head. 

‘‘ I wished to show you what the Indians be- 
come when it is merely a question of slaughter- 
ing an ox,” said MacDutf. ‘‘ The words you 
spoke just now hurt me. For Heaven’s sake do 
not think me a cruel man. I care so much for 
your — friendship.” 

“ Few would dispute this treasure with you,” 
replied Madame Hertel, with ironical sadness. 

The major was on the point of replying, but 
seeing that the school was hut a few paces off, he 
kept silent. Both entered. The distribution of 
cake finished, Logan was gravely presiding at a 
sort of examination at which the school-mistress 
did the honours. The pupils one by one were 
called up to the chair of the distinguished visitor, 
Logan, and deciphered the alphabet, recited a 
rule of grammar, or a page of history, according 
to their ages. 

At first Chantal was agreeably surprised by 
the transformation wrought in these young 
beings by civilisation. She could hardly believe 
that these hoys, clothed and shod like farmers’ 
sons, speaking a fiuent English, able to write 
rapidly, were the cousins and brothers of these 
savage demons, scarcely above the brute, the 
precocious feats of whom had almost caused her 
to swoon a few moments ago. 

And to make the comparison more noticeable. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


157 


a poor squaw, who had crept into the school be- 
hind Madame Hertel, was crouched on the floor 
a little way off. She was clumsily wrapped in 
her blanket, and one could guess from her bare 
feet, which were quite raw, that she had walked 
a long distance to attend the distribution. She 
seemed still young, hut the fatigue of camp life, 
starvation too often endured, perhaps the re- 
peated exhaustion of maternity, had taken from 
her every vestige of human grace. Beside Lo- 
gan, Chantal, and the school-mistress, she looked 
like a decidedly inferior creature. And yet this 
squaw had a heart, — a mother’s heart. For sud- 
denly, when a lad of twelve was passing by her 
in order to take his turn in the examination, 
wearing already the pride of anticipated success 
on his countenance, the Indian silently fell on 
her knees and tried to detain for a moment the 
boy — evidently her boy — who brushed past her. 

But either because he was entirely absorbed 
by the coming trial, or because he was ashamed 
of his mother in such company, he brusquely 
threw away the hands extended in such humble 
tenderness. A moment after, imperturbable in 
his answers, he realised the high anticipation of 
the school-mistress, who had announced him as 
her best pupil. So while he was reciting the 
life of George Washington with the same into- 
nations of admiration as though it had been the 
life of a great benefactor of his race, Madame 
14 


158 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Ilertel heard close by a smothered groan, which 
escaped from the broken heart of the Indian 
crouching in her corner with her blanket over 
her head. The poor squaw wept as though she 
was weeping for a dead one, for her beloved, for 
her papoose, whom she had come to embrace as 
a reward for several days’ walk, and who had 
not deigned to stop and receive her kiss. The 
incident had passed unperceived except by the 
major and Chantal. "What the latter had just 
witnessed was like a dramatisation of her own 
history, with another dress and in another place. 

In order to escape from this scene she with- 
drew unnoticed, as she at first thought. She 
sought refuge in the little wooden church of the 
mission. But prayer, sometimes, like tears, re- 
fuses to fiow at a time when the benefit would 
be greatest. Chantal resumed her aimless walk. 
She only thought to escape from the howling and 
firing which still sounded in her ears. Suddenly 
she detected the noise of footsteps on the grass 
behind her. MacDufl'joined her. She looked at 
him, and was quite astonished to see an emotion 
in his gray eyes which caused them to refiect 
like steel tarnished by moisture. 

“ This is a bad day for you as well as for your 
friends, who cannot bear to see you sad.” 

“Pardon me,” replied Chantal; “my nerves 
are all upset to-day, for you did not see what I 
saw.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


159 


“ I saw everything, and so well did I under- 
stand you that I was on the point of crushing 
with my hoot this young animal who forgot his 
mother. They think a miracle is wrought in 
teaching English to these young brutes, but it 
would take two generations to make men of them. 
In these can be found again the offspring of the 
animal which no longer recognises the female of 
whom it is horn as soon as it can feed itself. I 
commence to believe that philosophers overrate 
nature. It is not sufficient to create this relation 
which the civilised man inscribes at the head of 
his moral and religious code, — the filial debt.” 

Madame Hertel lowered her eyelids as though 
stung by suffering. She murmured in a slow 
and solemn voice, — 

“ Alas ! elsewhere than with the Indians one 
sees forgotten debts.” 

She appeared intensely sad. The major said, 
‘‘ Come, I have ordered a carriage. Logan and 
I will take you back to the fort.” 

“ Oh, I wish I had never left it !” 

“ Courage,” replied MacDuff. “ Whatever 
bitterness you may feel, believe that some devoted 
hearts beat near yours. K you only knew how 
— everybody loves you at the fort !” 


160 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

Madame Heetel made ‘‘ rain and sunshine/’ 
as they say, from one end of “ the line” to the 
other, and no one was more astonished than 
herself at this popularity. During the latter 
part of her stay in France she had been forced 
to believe that nature had afflicted her with some 
species of mysterious disgrace, the influence of 
which had estranged those who should have 
shut their eyes to her defects. At Koutenai, on 
the contrary, everybody sought her out. Burton 
was amused by her wit and by the very youthful 
ardour which she showed in discussions. Logan 
had become her friend to the utmost limit, and 
to this loyal and fervent heart friendship was 
not merely a name. As to the major, though 
apparently there was nothing changed in his 
life, everything had changed in his ideas of the 
future, in his hopes, in his fears. He never 
opened his heart to a soul, above all not to 
Madame Hertel. But he drank in each one of 
her words, hung on each one of her gestures, 
trying to discover if, without being a fool, he 
could compete for the succession of the defunct 
husband; for to him, as to all the world, the late 
Mr. Hertel was awaiting Resurrection Day on 
the other side of the Atlantic. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


161 


MacDuff had a rival, equally as timid, but 
less clever in hiding his secret from the world. 
This rival, Abraham Zunds, was quartermaster 
of the fort. He was quite small, wore glasses, 
and was fifty years old, but he appeared much 
older, although he carried in his breast the 
susceptible heart of a young man. It was re- 
ported that there had never been a girl or 
widow who had shown her face “in the line” 
without his having honoured her with a pro- 
posal of marriage. 

“ But,” said he, modestly, “ there is some- 
thing else to do besides ask: one must make 
love, and — I have not always time even to sit at 
my table.” 

Madame Hertel, invited to inspect the stores, 
had conquered the quartermaster at the first 
glance by praising the beautiful order of the 
blouses, boots, tools, and cans of preserves. 
From that day favours commenced to rain on 
the amiable Frenchwoman. In her room every- 
thing was painted which could be painted, the 
remainder was varnished. The dryest matches 
were selected for her bureau, — a new pipe put to 
her stove, — a fresh paper ornamented her walls. 
On the other hand, Zunds was shaven, well 
brushed, rejuvenated, and was often found fol- 
lowing the footsteps of Madame Hertel. 

But suddenly the suitor became invisible, and 
no longer emerged from the depths of the store. 
l 14 * 


162 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Those who knew this man’s habits understood 
that he had just had his heart broken — for the 
twentieth time, perhaps. Burton, always ready 
for a joke, one day said to Madame Hertel before 
MacDuff, — 

‘‘I would not have believed you so cruel. 
What is required, then, to make you decide ?” 

“A few things; to be twenty-five years 
younger to begin with.” 

The reply was such as one hears every day 
under similar circumstances, but the tone, look, 
and expression of Chantal’s face gave the major 
a chill of anguish. The whole night he revolved 
these words in his mind, and dared less than 
ever to speak. He fell into a great sadness. 
The early winter of the Eockies had spread a 
mantle of snow over the fort. It was not with- 
out terror that Chantal saw the long months of 
seclusion approach; she was soon reassured in 
finding the days pass very quickly. Once again 
she admired the energy and resources of these 
women, both young and old, who retained their 
cheerfulness and never uttered a complaint. In 
this little corner, separated from the world by a 
barrier of snow, a veritable worldly existence 
brought rigorous duties, incessant occupations 
which do not leave the inhabitants of cities 
the time to think. There were the same din- 
ners given and returned, the same musical and 
dancing evenings, the same society plays. The 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


163 


afternoons scarcely sufficed to pay visits, to attend 
the sewing circles, and literary — sometimes reli- 
gious — classes. In short, it was social life con- 
densed along a wooden pavement of a hundred 
yards. There was always a squad of men ready 
to sweep away the first flakes of snow, and ren- 
der visiting easier than in Paris during a severe 
season. In all these reunions Logan Burton set 
the example of zeal by her sprightliness and 
‘‘ go.” But she willingly relinquished the par- 
ties organised for winter sports, — skating, sleigh- 
ing, tobogganing, excursions in snow-shoes, and 
hunting bears in the neighbouring forests. She 
took these hours to enjoy her piano ; and, a most 
remarkable thing, MacBuff had become musical. 
He rarely failed to arrive when Logan was accus- 
tomed to caress the keys of her “ Chickering,” 
and for an hour he would remain silent, gazing 
at Chantal or closing his eyes as though trans- 
ported by melody. But what occupied him the 
most was the study of French with Madame 
HerteFs assistance. He displayed incredible zeal 
and made rapid progress. One day Logan said 
to him, — 

“ Uncle Hufiy, what will you gain by speaking 
French, — ^your promotion in the army ?” 

Ho,” he answered, with the embarrassment 
of a school-boy ; “ but perhaps — my promotion 
in the friendship of a Frenchwoman.” 

They were a most congenial trio, and some- 


164 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


times Chantal’s conscience pricked her for be- 
coming attached to this sweet life; she would 
say to herself, ‘‘What can I be made of? I 
can eat, drink, sleep, find interest in life ; and 
how do I know that at this moment my son is 
alive ?” 

She was not entirely without news, however. 
Each month Dubigeon wrote to her, saying, for 
the lack of something better to say, that “ the 
gentlemen were always the same.” Fischel and 
his afiairs were subjects which affected more 
strongly this Savoyard notary, who, once van- 
quished, remained standing on the breach. Al- 
most a year after the arrival of the Marquise in 
Koutenai he wrote, “ The motor is constructed ; 
it was time ! It cost the share-holders a pretty 
sum, hut, in truth, our compatriots push ndiveie 
to the limits of the supernatural. It is a pleas- 
ure to dupe these people. One of our Mends 
lately returned from the capital, where ‘some 
experiments’ had taken place in his presence 
(you understand that because of my relations 
with certain persons I do not attend them my- 
self). Some gullible fellows awaited him at the 
station and called out before the train had even 
stopped, ‘ Well, is the engine working ?’ ‘ Work- 
ing ? hTo, but it has budged !’ There was a hurst 
of joy which was scarcely cooled by a new call 
for funds soon afterwards. If I am not able to 
put in a veto soon, this Fischel will ruin the 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


165 


whole of Savoy. For one of onr acquaintances 
it is already done, for I have not a centime more 
of his in my care. But, thank Heaven, a con- 
siderable number of American dollars are begin- 
ning to arrive under the tutelary name of Hertel. 
Brava, Madame la Marquise ! You will have a 
place in the history of your family, for I trust 
that in spite of everything its history is not yet 
finished. Certain families, like certain people, 
have the nine lives of a cat. However that may 
be, I hope you will grow old in peace, if only 
God for a long time averts all idea of marriage 
from the blonde head of your pupil.’’ 

Grow old in peace.” In order to grow old 
in peace Chantal must forget ; and each night, 
long before the daybreak trumpet sounded, she 
would awake with a start, drawn from her slum- 
ber by a voice which cried out to her, “Re- 
member !” The torture of this moment and of 
the succeeding hours were so insupportable, that 
each night on extinguishing her lamp she shiv- 
ered in anticipation of it. 

Toward the middle of her second summer at 
Koutenai, Madame Hertel accompanied Logan 
and some of the officers’ wives to the Perma 
Ranch, one of the largest in the Northwestern 
States. In the place of the colonel, who re- 
mained at the fort, MacDuff directed the cara- 
van. Though it was an excursion of forty miles, 
it was expected that they would cover the dis- 


166 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


tance in one day, over a road scarcely marked 
out on the plain. 

The party started at daybreak. It was com- 
posed of two ambulances for the ladies, a waggon 
carrying the provisions and utensils, as well as 
some armed soldiers in case of emergency. The 
major and a group of officers were mounted on 
their horses, and acted as scouts as well as guides. 
The greater part of them, especially MacDuff, 
knew the road to the ranch well. The excur- 
sion was made without accident, and without 
meeting any human being save an occasional 
inoffensive Indian. They moved slowly over 
the undulating ground, which reminded one of 
the great swell of the Atlantic the day after a 
storm. In this region, bounded by two chains 
of mountains, the plain was no longer monoto- 
nous. Doubtless its felt carpet, tinged by the 
autumn to a faded green, stretched out of sight ; 
but on this neutral-coloured ground a generous 
brush had lavished without transition the most 
startling and brilliant tints. In the foreground, 
at each moment, a clump of maples attracted 
the eye by the almost pure scarlet of their leaves, 
while on the slope of the hills the American 
willow displayed its foliage turned to a bright 
yellow. Europe has never known the effect of 
these touches of gamboge marking every spring 
with a point, every running brook with an un- 
dulating line. Higher up, the pines, with their 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


167 


sober tint of dark emerald, brought into contrast 
this riot of colouring, while still higher the great 
snowy peaks, seeming quite near because of the 
diaphanous purity of the atmosphere, outlined on 
the blue of the heavens their indentations of silver. 

During a halt Miss Burton drew her friend 
away from the rest, who were absorbed in the 
prosaic preparations for luncheon. 

“ Look at this scenery !” she exclaimed. “ It 
is even more beautiful than music, more beauti- 
ful than painting, more beautiful than all the 
masterpieces of man ! How I love nature ! How 
I thank God for the privilege of living this life, 
so little known to women of my social sphere ! 
I feel an immense happiness which I cannot ex- 
press in words. It is as though I would con- 
dense in one single moment the enthusiasm, the 
consolation, the hope which has so many times 
swept over my soul when hearing a grand har- 
mony, reading a beautiful book, or listening to 
an eloquent lecture. But the masterpieces of 
man require some years, at the most, to com- 
plete, while for hundreds of centuries Hature 
works at hers.” 

Madame Hertel listened, but did not reply, 
once more astonished to find poetry in this child 
of a country accused so strongly of prosaicism. 
Suddenly the young girl asked, — 

‘‘Tell me, are you not happy at the mere 
living?” 


168 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


replied Chantal, in so strong a voice 
that it almost caused her to tremble. 

Following these words they heard a smothered 
sigh, and both turned to find MacDuiF standing 
behind them. 

Are you quite sure this is not blasphemy ?” 
said he, gravely. “ Who knows what happiness 
the future may have in store for you 

Chantal answered, “ All those who have not 
known certain sulferings say the same thing, — 
‘ look at the future.’ You should advise me to 
do quite the contrary. The future, — I see it only 
too well!” 

“ One can never tell what the future may 
have in store for us,” replied MacDufi*. “I 
have suffered cruelly; your father knows it, 
Logan. I have loved and been loved, or, at 
least, so I believed. Then the war broke out. 
I came out of it disfigured, — I, who was called 
the handsome MacDuff. The hour approached 
when I must meet the fascinating woman who 
held my heart in her hands. How many 
times I have asked myself while standing before 
a mirror, ‘Am I still a man to be loved?’ 
When the door opened and my beautiful be- 
trothed entered, I read in her eyes something 
worse than fright. I hope you will excuse her. 
Sabre-cuts are like pictures : you must not see 
them when fresh. I think, however, in spite of 
all, she would have kept her word. But I had 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 169 

understood her look — and I came out West. 
Was I not right, Madame Hertel?’’ 

“ A Frenchwoman would not have let you go.’’ 

MacDufi:*’s physiognomy brightened at these 
words. He continued : At that time I thought 
of the future as you do; I longed to shut my 
eyes and not see it. To-day I have bright dreams 
of the future like a West Point cadet, and I no 
longer regret, as I once did, the skilfulness of 
the surgeon’s knife. Once again I love life.” 

An astonished ‘‘why” was on the point of 
escaping from Chantal’s lips. But her instinct 
warned her to restrain the question. At this 
moment the sound of a casserole employed as a 
gong called them around an improvised table. 
So, the people and the animals satisfied, the cara- 
van continued its course. 

Toward evening they reached a gate opening 
between two rustic posts, one of which bore a 
sign-board with the name “ Perma Ranch.” As 
far as the eye could see on both sides was a 
barbed-wire fence. As they were opening the 
heavy gate the major said to Madame Hertel, — 

“FTotice this fence. We could follow it for 
thirty miles before we reached the point from 
whence we started. It encloses fifteen thousand 
head of cattle. We have still one hour before 
we reach the dwelling.” 

Even after entering there was nothing to 
indicate a ranch, except great skeletons which 


170 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


marked the soil with very white spots. An 
enormous number of animals were seen grazing 
at the most fertile places. At last they met the 
shepherds of the American desert, — the cowboys. 
For the most part they were of a not very reas- 
suring appearance, wearing immense felt hats, 
coarse vests, which were discoloured by the sun 
and rain. A bright-hued cotton handkerchief 
covered their necks, the ends floating in pictu- 
resque disorder. On either side of the Mexican 
saddle their legs, stretched out almost straight, 
were encased in black sheep fur, which fell over 
the enormous stirrups. The belt furnished with 
cartridges, the revolver at hand, the lasso wound 
round the pommel, completed the equipment of 
these ITemorins. They were on their way to 
relieve their comrades for the night. 

As Chantal looked through the window, 
anxious to see nearer this type of whom she had 
heard wondrous tales of incredible deeds, Mac- 
Duff said, — 

‘‘We have nothing more curious in the so- 
cial order of America. Probably more than one 
of these fellows regrets an unlucky shot in a 
Western bar-room or at a roulette-table in San 
Francisco. To-morrow they will start for Texas, 
and will bring back a thousand head of cattle 
without so much as losing one. It is the distance 
from Paris to Warsaw, quite a desert, with the 
continual danger of meeting with unpleasant 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


171 


adventures. Their skilfulness, endurance, and 
fearlessness of death are phenomenal. These 
cowboys come from all parts of the world. 
What romances might be written with the his- 
tory of their sorrows, love, jealousy, even the 
downfall, which have enlisted this odd hand !” 

“ Poor fellows !” sighed Chantal, as she 
thought of the chagrin and ruin of her own life 
which had driven her into this exile. 

The numerous family of the owner of Perma 
Panch awaited their guests, whose coming had 
been signalled by the cowboys. The mother, 
daughters, and daughters-in-law conducted the 
ladies to their various rooms, furnished as well 
as a Pew York country house. Supper was 
served with an almost luxurious refinement. 
As a stranger Madame Hertel was shown the 
honours, and in spite of her long sojourn in 
America, she experienced astonishment anew at 
this hospitality, combining the simplicity which 
might have been shown by an Arab in the desert 
beneath his tent with the lavishness of an Eng- 
lish duke. After supper Logan took possession 
of the piano, and for an hour the rest of the 
company danced. It was midnight when they 
separated. 

The next morning, which was Saturday, was 
employed in visiting the various quarters of the 
establishment: a church, a school, a post- and 
telegraph-office, several shops well stocked, the 


172 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


whole surrounded by sheds, workshops, black- 
smith-shops, and houses inhabited by fifty cow- 
boys, of whom some were married and fathers of 
families. The mail was brought every forty-eight 
hours by a line of railroad which bounded the 
estate on the side opposite Koutenai ; only one 
train ran on this track, going up one day and 
down the next. By this means the cattle were 
carried to the great stock-yards of Chicago. 
During the shipping season extra trains ran each 
week. 

After luncheon some twenty saddle-horses 
were brought before the verandah, where the 
nurses were walking in the sunshine with the 
tender hopes of a future generation. A certain 
number of young beasts were to be branded, 
which would enable the cowboys to show their 
incredible skill with the lasso. While the entire 
company of men, women, and young girls gal- 
loped to the rendezvous, Madame Hertel, an 
indifferent horsewoman, remained behind with 
MacDufif 

“ If you will trust to me, we would do well to 
dispense with this spectacle,” said the major. 

The shouting, the wild pursuit of these poor 
animals, — bellowing, bound, thrown down on 
the grass, — ^the odour of burning flesh, all this 
is not intended for you. I remember but too 
well the day of the beef issue, and I understand 
you.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


173 


‘‘ That was a miserable day for me,” said 
Madame Hertel ; ‘‘ but then, what shall we do ?” 

“ Come with me ; I will show you something 
more suited to your tastes than this roasting.” 

They retraced their steps, and reached the 
superb avenue which connected the residence 
with the railroad station. While walking their 
horses the major said, — 

‘‘You will be astonished to hear that I have 
two friends in the village of Perma. The ac- 
quaintance of the first, who is postmistress, I 
made on a former visit. You can guess what 
this post-office is. The poor girl was compelled 
to leave her father, a clergyman in the East, that 
there might be a little more bread for her too 
numerous brothers and sisters. There does not 
live a creature more deserving of respect. I am 
confident she will greatly interest you.” 

“ She ought to marry.” 

“ Oh, it is not for the lack of opportunity. 
In a radius of ten miles there is but one mar- 
riageable man who has not proposed to her. 
Women are scarce in the Northwest, and it is 
precisely this obstinate bachelor who is my friend 
number two in Perma.” 

“ I presume that because he has not asked he 
has a chance of possessing all, owing to woman’s 
inconsistency ? She adores him ?” 

“Between ourselves, this poor fellow has 
nothing with which to turn a woman’s head. 

1 ^* 


174 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


He is not young, handsome, nor brilliant, and 
this girl intimidates him to the verge of imbe- 
cility, for he loves her passionately. He has 
a little farm in the neighbourhood which he 
manages alone. He was in my company during 
the war.’’ 

The two riders had reached the gate of the 
ranch. MacDuff alighted to open it. The track 
crossed, they left behind them the shutes for the 
shipping of cattle. They found themselves in 
the midst of poor wooden houses which com- 
prised the village. On a gable of one of these in- 
significant dwellings hung a hoard upon which a 
not very skilful hand had written “ Post-Office.” 
At the noise of the horses’ hoofs a feminine 
face, whose youth was veiled beneath the melan- 
choly of exile, appeared at the window directly 
opening on the public lane. 

‘‘ Oh, major, what a surprise !” 

The door immediately opened ; MacDuff and 
his companion entered the only room, leaving 
their horses tied to the shutters. The introduc- 
tion was en regie. They began immediately to 
talk, as though they had separated only the day 
before, and Chantal opened her eyes wide, never 
having seen anyone who in the least resembled 
this type of woman. Annie told her how she had 
been separated from her family for four years, 
and had spoken to no one since the evening 
before, except to her parrot. The post-office at 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


175 


Perma remained entire days without receiving 
or sending a letter, since the establishment of a 
special post at the ranch. 

“ And doesn’t your neighbour Mcolaus come 
to buy stamps asked the major, smiling. 

‘‘ I*7ow look here. Major MacDuff, you know 
it is not permitted to he indiscreet in my busi- 
ness.” 

She blushed, and under the pretext of filling 
her teapot had gained the other extremity of 
the room. Without noise, without precipitation, 
she prepared her collation, and was no more em- 
barrassed in her poor, though admirably neat 
dress than a Fifth Avenue belle would have 
been in a hundred-dollar tea-gown. She never 
dreamed of apologising for offering only bread, 
butter, and excellent cream, and some sweet 
biscuits reserved for grand occasions. 

“ Is it not fortunate that my office is one of the 
most miserable in the United States? At a bet- 
ter post I should be compelled to leave my guests 
every moment for the sake of the public.” 

“You are not ambitious,” said Madame Her- 
tel. “ But how long the day must seem to you !” 

“ To shorten it I have my housekeeping and 
some books to read. Then, besides, there is the 
train every afternoon. That is an agreeable dis- 
traction.” 

Chantal admired this simple and courageous 
girl, who, deprived of all joys, of all hope, saw 


176 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


her youth leaving her and did not utter one word 
of complaint. Annie told the story of how she 
found her parrot among the baggage of an emi- 
grant. The baggage and the parrot had arrived 
at their destination, hut the man was never heard 
of, — killed, no doubt, by some tramp who had 
been tempted by his little hoard. 

‘‘ Confess,” said MacDuff, laughing, “ that you 
hope he is dead.” 

The simple creature clasped her hands with a 
gesture of horror. After a moment’s reflection 
she said, — 

“If he should appear I would try to thank 
God with all my heart. But what would become 
of me, robbed of my beloved bird, which is my 
whole joy? If you knew, major, how ashamed 
I am sometimes of my selfishness.” 

She then led her guests into her little garden, 
where on a bush two roses blossomed. She gave 
one to Madame Hertel and the other to MacDufl*. 

“ What are you doing ?” he said. “ It will be 
a year before you see another flower.” 

Smilingly the selfish girl answered by this 
American proverb : “ ‘ One can’t have one’s cake 
and eat it too ;’ but I never suspected this morn- 
ing on seeing my roses what pleasure I should 
have this evening in parting with them.” 

The sun was sinking over the great peaks, 
apparently very near, but in fact a distance of 
several days’ walk. The visitors entered the 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


177 


little house to sit for a while before leaving. At 
this moment two timid knocks were heard at 
the window calling Miss Marshall to her duties. 
She drew aside the shutter, and the bust of a 
man in farmer’s clothes appeared, whose canvas- 
covered waggon, drawn by two oxen, waited in 
the road. 

“ Good-evening, Miss Annie,” began the 
farmer, taking off his hat respectfully ; “ I — was 

coming — on my way ” He stopped, bracing 

himself up by a desperate effort. But he was 
not able to give the turn he wished to his phrase ; 
plunging his hand in his pocket he drew out 
two coppers and said, hurriedly, “Will you 
please give me a stamp.” 

“Here it is, Mr. Mcolaus. How early you 
are returning home to-day !” 

“ The afternoon before Sunday, you know. I 
must leave the fields earlier in order to attend 
to some necessary cleaning. Would you believe 
that Bute and Fairy can tell Saturday from other 
days ? On that day they stop of their own accord 
when the time comes for me to attend to house- 
hold duties. They know that their poor master 
is all alone. Some men have — a wife to keep 

the house in order, but I They understand, 

don’t you, Bute, don’t you, Fairy ?” 

The worthy man had turned toward his 
beasts to hide his burning face after this broad 
insinuation, which marked the utmost limit of 

m 


178 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


his hardihood. Annie herself had blushed when 
her eyes again met those of Mcolaus, these blue 
eyes which were almost handsome because of 
their goodness, and contrasted in their infantine 
gentleness with a vigorous beard and a mop of 
red hair. Suddenly the farmer’s countenance 
became severe and martial. Straightening him- 
self up, he gave the military salute to his superior 
officer, whom he had just perceived in the cor- 
ner of the room. 

“ Mcolaus, I am glad to meet you,” said Mac- 
Duff. ‘‘ Still a bachelor, I see.” 

“ Yes, sir. Women are scarce out West. But 
it seems that the dearth is as great for officers as 
for common soldiers.” 

The answer was without malicious intent, and 
yet the bronzed cheeks of the major grew red. 
As if he regretted this turn of the conversation 
he hastened to change it, and began to question 
Mcolaus on the working of his farm and the 
news of the Indian territory. Soon after, each 
one continued his way, the farmer and his oxen 
to his farm, the officer and his companion to the 
ranch. When they had passed the gate MacDuff 
said, — 

“ You did not expect to meet with a romance 
in this tumble-down house? It has extended 
over two years. Mcolaus is no longer young, 
and he is not handsome. For this brave fellow, 
who can read and write, nothing more, Annie 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


179 


Marshall is a superior being. Several times 
during the week he comes to say the words, for 
he adores this plucky girl. But his courage 
always fails, and he finishes by buying a post- 
age-stamp. I suppose he has now a stock of 
them on hand, for I doubt if he writes three 
letters a year. After all, is it not better for 
them to stay where they are ?” 

‘‘]lTo,” said Chantal, quite simply. ‘‘Mcolaus 
seems full of strength and health. The love and 
goodness which are written on his face make 
him better than handsome to a woman of heart. 
Annie Marshall is of my opinion, I am sure of 
it. She would educate this simple and upright 
nature ; they would join their two lonely lives, 
and it would be happiness for these two beings, 
who have not much joy on either side. It seems 
to me, were I in your place, I would tell Mcolaus 
he is too timid.” 

There was a few minutes’ silence. Suddenly, 
the great resolution taken, MacDuff became once 
more the fearless cavalryman who braved Lee’s 
troops. 

Do you not think your encouragement might 
he given to more than one ISTicolaus ? I know 
another hficolaus who dares not speak, feeling 
himself unworthy of the woman he loves with 
all the ardour, devotion, and loyalty of which he 
is capable ; for, if you are right, if it is true that 
love can take the place of merit, can beautify 


180 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


a face, can recall youth, bringing to two lonely 
beings a life of happiness — well, Madame, I dare 
to tell you — what Annie Marshall has not yet 
heard from the lips of Mcolaus.” 

Again the noise of the horses’ hoofs alone 
broke the silence. Overcome with stupor, Ma- 
dame Hertel finally answered, — 

It is I who am afraid now. Perhaps the 
words which I am about to say will rob me of 
the esteem of the most loyal of men. I might 
content myself with a refusal without explana- 
tion, but you are worthy of something better ; 
you deserve to know it is not my will which 
separates us. It is the impossible. Major Mac- 
Dufi" — I have a husband living.” 

“ Is it possible ?” he cried, as his eyes swept 
Chantal with a look full of uneasiness. My 
God ! What have I done ? I have obliged 

you Ah ! on my honour, your secret runs 

no risk in my hands.” 

‘Wour discretion is not sufficient. I want 
your esteem. Secrets of this sort too often hide 
shame. Mine only hides the bitterest of griefs. 
I am married ; I have a son, and the name I 
bear in America is not my true one.” 

As she spoke, her look, that of an honest 
woman, met MacDuffis. The emotion made her 
appear younger and brought back in a measure 
her beauty of former days. 

‘‘Do not tell me anything,” exclaimed her 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


181 


companion. Do you suspect I have a shadow 
of a doubt ? I am overwhelmed by surprise and 
by the loss of my hopes. But my respect for you 
has increased still more.” 

Chantal extended her hand with a smile of 
gratitude. “ Wait,” she said; “ it is I who wish 
you to know everything. I hope in confiding to 
you my secret to make you my friend.” 

Having thus spoken, she related her history, 
the desertion of her husband, the machinations 
of Fischel, and finally — this was the hardest of 
all — the filial apostasy. 

“How,” she continued, “I understand that, 
unconsciously, I expected a little emotion to be 
felt at my departure. I looked for one word, 
— ‘return.’ But I was mistaken. My going 
away had affected no one. Over there Fischel is 
still master.” 

MacDuff bent his head beneath the weight of 
his refiections. At the end of some seconds, he 
straightened himself up in his stirrups, and, 
bowing low, said, humbly, — 

“ Madame la Marquise de Bernaz, allow me to 
be the first in our American land to salute you 
by your true name. Be kind enough to believe 
that in thinking of your unhappiness I forget my 
own. I am confounded at what I have just 
heard ; I ask myself if your son is a monster or 
an unfortunate being who lacks intelligence.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake,” said Chantal, “ do not 
16 


182 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


condemn. If you only knew Fisckel, — twice I 
have been his dupe.’’ 

“ But how is it possible you could accept such 
a situation ?” 

‘‘Do you think I accept it? I pass the days 
in expecting something which never comes. 
Helion is no longer in Paris, He is in the prov- 
ince for one year’s military service. I hope 
much because of his separation from Fischel.” 

“You have never written, never attempted 
any proceedings ?” 

“ What proceedings ? Do you think my heart 
would be content with a mere commonplace rec- 
onciliation, with one of those settlements of a 
quarrel in which each one acknowledges his 
wrongs ? On my side there is no wrong ; on his 
there is a crime, but he was not really responsi- 
ble for it. Ho, my son’s kiss would be abhorrent 
to me if ordered by Fischel.” 

At some hundred yards’ distance the dwelling 
of the ranch could be perceived, already bril- 
liantly illuminated. The major put an end to 
the conversation by these words : 

“You will never know what I suffer, Madame. 
I hoped so much; and what my life will be 
henceforth you will not know either; but, at 
least, I will try to cure the sorrows of others, and 
I will commence from to-morrow.” 

Chantal opened her lips to ask an explanation 
of these words, but some people came to meet 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 183 

them. The evening passed away without an 
opportunity of renewing their talk. 

The next day, according to custom, the Sun- 
day’s rest was religiously observed on the ranch. 
All the cowboys except the indispensable keep- 
ers had gathered at the house. A number, ac- 
companied by their wives, attended religious 
service, which was conducted by the owner of 
the ranch. In the afternoon all this population 
was feasting. They sang to the guitar accom- 
paniment of the school-teacher, who also served 
as postmaster and telegraph-operator. They then 
danced in honour of the guests from the fort. 
MacDuff alone was absent. He returned before 
dinner wearing an expression singularly blending 
satisfaction and sadness. 

When they were able to talk together, Ma- 
dame Hertel, in a low voice, said to him, “ You 
have been to see Mcolaus ?” 

“ Precisely. I found him dressed in his Sun- 
day clothes, and, without warning, I took him 
by the arm and dragged him to Miss Marshall’s 
door. ‘N^ow, do you go in and behave like a 
man,’ I said to him. ‘ I give you five minutes to 
make your declaration, and if you are not wanted 
here I will go back to your farm with you.’ The 
five minutes passed away ; I looked through the 
window. She had her back turned toward me, 
and was busily occupied in caressing her parrot’s 
feathers. Suddenly — no doubt Annie had an- 


184 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


swered as some do not answer in this world — 
ll^icolaus took her in his arms vigorously, and 
Mike a man,’ I assure you! They no longer 
needed me. I mounted my horse, and here I 
am. At least, now there are two unhappy be- 
ings less in the world.” 

“ How good you are ! You must come to their 
wedding.” 

“Oh, no, not that; besides, when they are 
married it is likely I shall be far from Kou- 
tenai.” 

The next day the inhabitants of the fort re- 
turned to their homes, and life continued its 
usual course, at least to all appearances. But for 
two persons of this story life was not the same. 
Between Chantal and MacDuff there were no 
hints as to certain hopes destroyed. Two or 
three times while Logan was in her room they 
could chat alone without witnesses. The major 
on these occasions questioned his friend on her 
past, dating from her earliest infancy. 

“ One would believe that you contemplated 
writing my biography,” she said to him, smiling. 

Without smiling, which he had rarely done 
since his visit to Perma, he replied, “ You are not 
mistaken; I contemplate writing it — in my heart.” 

At the end of the autumn he got a year’s 
leave, and made preparations for his departure. 
It would be the first time for long years that 
he had been separated from Burton. But he 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


185 


scarcely seemed affected by it ; and as bis friend 
complained, affectionately, MacDuff said, ‘‘ Any- 
way, the separation was near. You are going to 
be promoted.” 

‘‘Yes, it looks that way,” replied George. 
“ But I will confide a secret to you. I have the 
promise of a post in ^^'ew York, and I will have 
you assigned near me.” 

“ Do not take the trouble, old comrade. It is 
here that I wish to return next year. Koutenai 
is worth more to me than all the brilliant garri- 
sons in the world. I have not a marriageable 
daughter.” 

The last adieux were almost solemn because 
of their simplicity. *After having seen their friend 
enter his carriage, Chantal and Miss Burton 
climbed the hill which commanded for some dis- 
tance a view of the plain. It was freezing. Bor 
several days gray-yellow clouds seemed to weigh 
on the mountains. Suddenly the first fiakes of 
a November snow began to eddy around. 

“ Cruel day ! Friendship gone, the winter 
come,” sighed Logan. “ Adieu, my poor grass ! 
adieu, my poor fiowers ! We shall not see each 
other again for a long time.” 

She threw herself on her knees and kissed the 
ground with a sort of passion. When she raised 
herself her eyes were full of tears. 

“ Tow-head !” said her companion, softly, while 
caressing her golden hair. 

16 * 


186 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


But the young girl drew away brusquely, her 
eyebrows contracted with an air of revolt. 

“Bo not call me Tow-head! My mother 
alone had that right.” 

“ If you knew how I love you, Logan.” 

“ I am not the one you ought to love ! You 
are cruel ! You have made Uncle Buflfy go 
away ! Bo you think that I am blind ?” 

“ I think that your eyes do not see all, my 
child.” 

And without speaking they returned to the 
fort. 

The following week Madame Hertel heard 
important news. “At last the good cause tri- 
umphs,” wrote Buhigeon. “We shall be able 
to taste revenge, the pleasure of the gods. I 
succeeded in having an expert accountant and 
an expert engineer named. These gentlemen 
have shown, one, that this damned machinery has 
been paid for five or six times over by the share- 
holders ; the other, that it is incapable of going 
two minutes without blowing up. Hence a reso- 
lution by the majority to ask for a judicial liquida- 
tion, otherwise called a ‘ grave-digger.’ Fischel 
protested, made an appeal, hut the judges’ hearts 
were not so soft as yours. The motor company 
has lived. De profundis ! 

“ The most amusing part is that I meet some 
people furious against me under the pretext that 
I have robbed them of their hopes. They admit 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


187 


that it was a dream ; but after all, in this dream 
they had invested, drawn out, reinvested their 
little million. For a trifle more they would claim 
this million from me. As for Monsieur de Ber- 
naz, I managed to keep his name out of the pro- 
ceedings, hut it goes without saying he is not the 
less ruined, and in addition he laments the loss 
of his salary as secretary. Consequently, I fear, 
he curses me, and I scarcely dare hope that he 
treats you any better. But his curses won’t kill 
us, as we shall see. 

“ Helion is still in the service, and will be for 
two months. He, perhaps, will know how to 
clear things up. He has a civil engineer’s di- 
ploma. That is something always, and the only 
good to my knowledge that Fischel has ever done 
in his stay on earth.” 

What Chantal’s reply was will be seen by the 
following letter, from Dubigeon : 

“ Madame, I know well there is another life for such a saint 
as you. Nevertheless, I find that you exceed the limit. Well, 
I cannot discuss your orders. You had a fine opportunity to 
become a widow by allowing the amiable man whose name you 
bear to die of hunger. Since you refuse to profit by it Mon- 
sieur de Bernaz will live — on the money his wife earns. And 
he will not be informed of it, as that is your desire. I will 
employ some subterfuge, easy to invent, considering your pen- 
sioner’s intelligence. I ought to tell you, however, that this 
intelligence lately seems to be more cloudy. In the court the 
Marquis appeared to have aged by several years. Everything 
passes away, Madame, — except remembrances of sorrows like 
yours.” 


188 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


At the fort the winter glided away in a great 
calm, interrupted at the end of March by a 
change of reign. Burton was made a general, 
and called to ITew York to take charge of the 
recruiting service. 


CHAPTEK XV. 

In the mean while MacDuff, having asked for 
leave to travel in Europe, embarked for France. 
He already knew Paris a little, not much less, 
indeed, than he knew Xew York or the larger 
American cities. For him, the old frontier sol- 
dier, all cities were alike. There was always 
the same labyrinth of streets, where one could 
not ride at ease ; the same restaurants, where one 
could not breathe ; the same theatres, where one 
could not stretch one’s legs or smoke. However, 
MacDuff was never awkward or embarrassed 
anywhere. He found his way from one end 
of the capital to the other by the sun, stars, or 
wind. But above all he recognised the small- 
est sign once noted, — a shop-window, a scaf- 
folding, even the beggar in his rag^, installed 
beneath a porte-cochere. His clothes, shoes, and 
hats were made by the best tradesmen, yet this 
singular man remained at bottom the ranger 
of Fort Koutenai. It is already understood 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


189 


that he had come to France with an object, so 
he proceeded without loss of time. In his con- 
versations with Chantal he had gathered some 
information concerning the past and present of 
the two Bernaz and their characters, though it 
caused the poor mother infinite sadness to ad- 
mit that she knew very little about her son. 
The young man had left the regiment and, for 
want of something better, had accepted the po- 
sition of secretary with an ex-clerk in the famous 
house of Cook, who had become the creator of a 
rival agency. 

MacDuff had little difficulty in finding the 
young man in his office, where he had many 
leisure hours on his hands, still less in begin- 
ning a conversation under pretext of a con- 
templated trip through Europe. This amiable 
stranger gave good cigars, and seemed particu- 
larly loquacious. Helion wore his heart on his 
sleeve ; a service asked by MacDuff, and ren- 
dered immediately, was followed by an invita- 
tion to breakfast. Chantafis son felt himself 
already won by sympathy, and, warmed by a 
few glasses of Chahlis, recounted his history 
without false shame. He explained the enter- 
prise in which his father had wasted his fortune, 
or what had remained of it, on the result of an 
invention ; hut the machinations of certain un- 
scrupulous adversaries had led to the disaster. 

“ You think,’’ said MacDuff, “that the inven- 


190 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


tion would have succeeded hut for the ‘ machina- 
tions’ of these adversaries 

“ They say so. As for myself, I was plunged 
in my studies at that time. Afterwards, I was 
compelled to pass a year in military service. 
Returning home, I found complete ruin, and, as 
it is necessary to live, I entered my ‘ ticket-office.’ 
In the course of time I will try to better myself.” 

‘‘ And your father, — on what does he live ?” 

This interrogation, although so simple, embar- 
rassed Helion. Rischel had taught him never 
to question anyone, above all, himself; he stam- 
mered, — 

‘‘ My father has not given me his confidence.” 

Soon after, young Bernaz left MacDuff, who 
had singularly startled him by more than one 
striking remark. He was preoccupied in the 
thought of how the Marquis did live, and on 
the day following he managed to see Fischel, a 
thing decidedly rare since his motor business 
had fallen through. Helion mentioned his new 
acquaintance as a most courteous American. 

‘‘ Is he rich ?” asked the inventor. 

“ I presume so, although I do not know much 
what a rich man is. But as he is making a 
year’s trip for pleasure, I conclude he has 
money.” 

“ Then you must introduce me to him. We 
will go to-morrow.” 

The major, who did not expect this visit, re- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


191 


strained himself from slamming the door in the 
face of this man who had caused the Marquise 
so much sorrow. But it was as well to talk with 
the individual who, by his personality, had fasci- 
nated everyone. As can be guessed, MacDuff 
was far from being fascinated. The conversation 
turned on America, and Fischel mentioned that 
he had lived in that country, the only place, he 
said, where, with an idea, a man can make a 
fortune. 

And you made your fortune with it ?” asked 
MacDuff, without smiling. 

‘‘My specialty is to make the fortunes of 
others/’ 

It is evident that Antonin did not suppose 
that his interlocutor was well informed as to his 
manner of enriching others. The major, point- 
ing to Helion, replied in a serious tone, — 

“Well, Monsieur, here is a fine instance of' 
your not exercising your talent.” 

“ Ah, ah ! Our young friend has given you 
his confidences ?” said Antonin, slightly elevating 
his eyebrows. “ Believe me, all hope is not lost. 
Difficulties pass away, ideas remain. Allow me 
to explain my idea to you.” 

Fischel described glowingly the conception of 
the motor, the experiments, and showed how 
Helion’s father would have been able to gain a 
fortune in his enterprise. 

“ Unfortunately, my partner had a wife ” 


192 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ She is dead interrupted MacDuff, without 
losing his sang-froid. 

With a significant shrug Fischel answered, 
“ She is not dead that we know of, but she has 
left her husband. She is no longer in France. 
She wanted to disappear.” 

At these words the major’s eyes turned from 
Fischel, and were fixed on Helion with a regard 
full of anguish. He thought, “ Will this miser- 
able fellow remain silent while there are reflec- 
tions cast upon his mother ? If he does, what 
can I expect from his heart ?” 

But Helion trembled beneath MacHuff ’s look, 
and answered, feeling at the same time the eyes 
of his fatal dominator on him, — 

“It is true that my mother is not with us. 
But — her absence has no other signification, 
nothing disreputable. She is worthy of all re- 
spect.” 

“ That is well said,” replied the major, turning 
to stare at Antonin. “ But it is doubly strange, 
then, that in the presence of her son there is a 
want of respect shown Madame de Bernaz.” 

“ Oh, I explained myself clumsily,” corrected 
Fischel, prudently. “It was not my intention 
to insinuate that the Marquise made mistakes, 
other than those of temper. But, nevertheless, 
she wanted to have a guardian appointed over 
her husband.” 

“ Under certain circumstances that might be- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


193 


come a duty,” observed MacDufF. His voice 
was quiet, assured, like that of a man whose 
opinion is formed. Believing that Helion had 
spoken too much in the preceding interviews, 
Fischel grew nervous, and thinking it expedient 
to defend himself, he related from his own point 
of view the story of Chantafs departure. 

Several times the major stopped him by some 
observations, which only spurred him on the 
more. Antonin felt that his auditor resisted 
him, a rare experience for him, and at the same 
time he was astonished that a stranger should be 
so interested in the quarrels of an unknown 
couple. CheTving his cigar with a concentrated 
anger, MacDuff waited until the end of the nar- 
rative, then remarked, in a cutting voice, — 

‘‘ If I have well understood, Madame la Mar- 
quise never left anyone. She was driven away. 
How I perceive that she was driven away because 
she represented her husband as incapable of pro- 
tecting his fortune. But of this fortune, what 
remains ?” 

At this question, which so completely justified 
his mother, Helion trembled. As to Fischel, 
whose rdle had changed somewhat, he deemed it 
advisable to pass to the real motive of his visit, 
and replied with greater animation, — 

“ What remains of it. Monsieur ? Consider- 
able remains, in a discovery which can enrich 
thousands of individuals. For the moment the 
17 


n 


194 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


business struggles with enemies wbicb a woman’s 
rancour has roused against us. Ah ! Monsieur, 
if there could be found a clear-headed man to 
stretch out a hand to lead us into port, which we 
have almost entered ! What a fortune in return 
for a little American-pluck !” 

These words brought a flash of merriment 
to the major’s sombre face. The idea that 
Fischel had come to him to solicit a loan was 
not without its comical side. While relighting 
his cigar he showed that he understood the in- 
sinuation. 

Hark you well, Monsieur Fischel. I believe 
in my country I pass for a man capable of some 
pluck. I have been in the war, and you must 
admit that I was not turning my back when I 
received these sword-cuts. But to trust to you 
one dollar, to you, — damn it, it would take a 
pluckier man than I, — the Marquis de Bernaz, 
for example.” 

Fischel was essentially practical ; he was only 
sensitive as to what touched his practical side, 
and thus the reply he had just heard had no 
efiect on him. He had grasped at the last straws 
that chance had thrown in his way. He had 
failed, most disagreeably indeed ; but what mat- 
ters to a drowning man the shape and size of 
the straws? Without replying he reached the 
door. MacHufi* took Helion’s hand, who, quite 
upset, had risen, and pressing it, he said, — 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 195 

‘‘ To you, my young friend, I have but one 
word to say : I pity you with all my heart.” 

When the young man and his companion 
were on the Boulevard, Antonin said, — 

Why didn’t you remain with your friend ?” 

Helion did not reply at once. Judging from 
the look he fixed on Fischel, one would have 
believed that he saw in him another man. He, 
whom Helion was wont to consider infallible, 
above all unconquerable, had just been silenced, 
humiliated, almost ejected. So great was the 
shock of this downfall that Chantal’s son suf- 
fered from pity ; and in a grave voice he asked, — 

“ I wish you to tell me one thing : on whose 
money has my father lived for nine months? 
You shall tell me also where my mother is. 
You, who pretend that nothing escapes you, 
must know it.” 

Fischel, before answering, placed his hand, 
bent like a claw, on Helion’s shoulder. At the 
same time he threw on the young man a look 
in which a discouragement rarely seen was per- 
ceptible. 

“ Ingrate,” said he, without raising his voice ; 
then with a sudden vehemence following a short 
silence, he added, ‘‘Well, your mother is in 
America ; go and look for her.” 

With these words he disappeared in the crowd. 

“ In America !” Helion was dumfounded. 
On the rare occasions when he had dared to 


196 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


question his father, the reply had always been, 
“ Your mother went away without leaving any 
address. You see she can do without us, let us 
do without her.’’ 

And from week to week, and month to month, 
they had done without the absent, as one does 
without the dead. In America ! For the first 
time Helion felt a sharp shock at the reality. 
In this man of twenty-three the soul was still 
slumbering; nevertheless something like an 
awakening had just taken place within him. 
But in what part of America was his mother ? 
He thought he would soon know. Fischel was 
not difficult to find ; at least, so he believed, and 
it was long past the hour to return to work. 

After the day was finished Helion returned to 
his father. Maxime, stretched out on a lounge, 
seemed overwhelmed by despondency. Silently 
he handed his son an official letter from Dubi- 
geon, which notified him of the death of the 
Chevalier de Beauvoisin, carried off after a short 
illness. The deceased, who had retained his 
faculties until the last, had forbidden that his 
nephew should be “troubled,” and it may be 
supposed that those who surrounded his death- 
bed had scarcely objected to this wish. 

“ Moreover,” added the lawyer, “ this unfavour- 
able disposition is still more manifest in the will, 
a copy of which it is my duty to forward to you 
without delay. Eeligious bequests, charities, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


197 


legacies to public or private institutions, absorb 
the assets, which, to tell the truth, proved to be 
less than expected.” 

‘‘ So here we are,” said Maxime, “ left out in 
the cold ! This is the last blow. And to think 
that because of his wealth my parents were on 
their knees to this man! But I shall protest; 
my uncle had no right to disinherit me.” 

‘‘ I am afraid he had,” declared Helion, who 
had remained rather cold. 

‘‘We shall know soon. Fischel has been in- 
formed. I am expecting him every minute. He 
will not allow me to be robbed by a set of beg- 
gars and nuns.” 

But when the clock struck ten Antonin had 
not shown himself. Helion during this stupid 
evening had closely observed his father, whose 
hair in a few months had already grown gray. 
As the Marquis was lamenting for the twentieth 
time the absence of his faithful protector, his son 
asked, abruptly, — 

“ Are you not tired. of living alone ? Why do you 
not make an effort to have my mother return ?” 

The Marquis de Bernaz sprang up, angrily : 

“ If you have no better advice to give in such 
an emergency, I shall say good-night.” And 
suppressing — not completely — a violent oath, he 
left the room. 

Two days afterwards Helion again saw the 
major. 


17 * 


198 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Monsieur,” said he, ‘‘ my life is not a happy one. 
You must not judge me too severely nor take my 
courage from me. You do not know how much I 
need it. I have greatly lacked advice in my life.” 

Good advice, yes,” corrected MacDuff. “ Do 
not he afraid. For you I am a friend, not a 
judge, and you will find it out soon.” 

In fact, Helion did find it out. On the pressing 
recommendation of the major he was selected 
as engineer in an electric-light plant which had 
just been started by an American company. 
Overjoyed, he said to his benefactor, — 

“ I would like to bring my father to you that 
he might add his thanks to mine. Unfortunately, 

his health detains him at home ” 

“ Oh, I implore you not to disturb him,” cried 
MacDuff, with singular vivacity. “ I trust that 
he is not seriously affected.” 

“ I hope not, but he has just received a painful 
shock. An old uncle, from whom he expected 
much, has just died, and has disinherited him, 
and his friend. Monsieur Fischel, has left Paris 
without informing us of his projects. His dis- 
appearance has greatly upset my father.” 

“ Ah,” said MacDuff, “ he has gone away ? I 
presume your uncle’s will made him decide to 
hasten his departure.” 

All these events, perhaps, too, the daily meet- 
ings with MacDuff, produced a salutary change 
in Helion. At last he had a settled position full 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


199 


of interest, quite different from the mechanical, 
vulgar job, with little remuneration, which he 
had held formerly. His days were replete to 
the last minute, and they often finished at a 
theatre with MacDuff. One evening, as they 
were returning from a performance of “ Kobert 
le Diable,” Helion said,— 

“I do not know of a more admirable scene 
than this final trio. Can you guess what thought 
flashed across my mind in seeing Robert disputed 
for between Alice and Bertram 

“ I imagine I do,” said MacDuff’, “ but tell me 
all the same.” 

“ I thought many things : to begin with, that 
it is terribly difficult to struggle against certain 
influences.” 

“All right; that is for Bertram; in other 
words, Fischel. In regard to him, thank God, 
the trap-door is closed. Then ?” 

“ Then I thought that I, too, might some day 
be told I no longer had a mother.” 

“Would that not be better than to be left 
in ignorance of her death? You would wear 
mourning, I suppose ?” 

They separated after these words, the lugu- 
briouB irony of which strangely troubled Helion. 
The young man slept little that night. On the 
day following he tried to see again his compan- 
ion, but was told that the major had gone away 
for a few days. 


200 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


MacDuff at tliis moment was rolling toward 
Savoy to accomplish a pilgrimage. It was his 
intention to become acquainted with the places 
where Chantal had passed all her life, of which 
they had spoken in their last interviews, — the 
Convent of Chambery, the Chateau de Bernaz, 
the old house of the Chevalier. Everywhere he 
found again the frame, destined henceforth to 
be empty, of this existence, which had scarcely 
known anything but sadness. The chateau 
had changed its aspect under the hand of its 
purchasers, but the superb mountains crowned 
with snow, the high poplars bordering the Isere, 
the village traversed by a roaring torrent, were 
still there. For one day the traveller filled his 
eyes and ears with all these outlines of scenery, 
all these various sounds, in the midst of which, 
for twenty years, had resignedly lived the woman 
he loved. Then, leaving the smiling valley, he 
entered the church, the bells of which were 
sounding the Angelus, — these same bells which 
had carolled so joyously to salute the new chate- 
laine, at the fatal hour when she had made her 
entrance into Bernaz. These words, which the 
Marquise had said in the desert of Koutenai, 
still rang in his ears : 

“ My God, how those bells lied !” 

The old cure waited until the stranger had fin- 
ished his meditations in order to close the door. 
In spite of his being a heretic, the visitor touched 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


201 


the basin of holy water in which Chantal had so 
often dipped her fingers. Then he said to the 
priest, returning his greeting, — 

“ Your church is poor, and yet you have par- 
ishioners who are rich, judging hy the turrets of 
their chateaux.’’ 

“ These are new-comers,” sighed the cure. 
“ The old lords were more generous toward 
God’s house, but ” 

“ Is the family, then, extinct ?” 

‘‘Ho; only ruined. There is a young man, 
poor fellow, sadly brought up. His father has 
not been able to manage his son better than he 
has his own fortune. The mother was a saint. 
Ah ! Monsieur, if you had only seen my sanct- 
uary in the young lady’s time. Alas, saints do 
not thrive in our century.” 

“ Ho, but martyrs thrive only too well.” 

“ I see that you know her. Monsieur, and that 
you are among those who love her.” 

“You have said it; I am among those who 
love her. Allow me to offer you something in 
her name which will help a little to repair your 
church, which was her church.” 

MacDuff went away, not wishing to reply to 
the questions he saw hovering on the lips of the 
old man. 

The next day he returned to Paris. On an 
envelope in a pile of letters he recognised the 
handwriting of Logan Burton. 


202 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


CHAPTER XVL 

“Dear Uncle Dufly, how I have neglected you since my 
arrival in New York ! But my father’s sister, Mrs. Tremont, 
who lives here, you know, has taken it into her head to make a 
society girl of me. I am sorry (?) to say she has miserably 
failed, and on more than one occasion I have experienced a 
longing to return to dear old Koutenai. Between ourselves, I 
am sure that papa has the same longing, though, to give me 
courage, he pretends to the contrary. My aunt, who is fond 
of me, was anxious that I should become acquainted with the 
elegances of a season at Newport. But I rebelled. As I had 
Madame Hertel and Cousin Eobert Page, the lawyer, on my 
side, my aunt yielded, and instead formed a project which will 
surprise you very much : it is to take me with her on a trip to 
Europe. Once more I rebelled, but more feebly, without 
counting that on this occasion Eobert Page would be on my 
aunt’s side. As to my father, he is enchanted with the idea. 
It is his dream to make a half-Erench girl of his daughter. 
But what has reconciled me is— no, I won’t tell you ; I don’t 
want to make you conceited ; still, I will allow you to believe 
I shall have some pleasure in seeing you. Eobert Page will 
accompany Mrs. Tremont ; she is also his aunt, and treats him 
as a favourite nephew. Alas ! Madame Hertel will stay in 
America. This resolution makes me inconsolable, but I dare 
not insist. She must have her reasons. Who could have fore- 
seen when you left Koutenai that our next meeting would be 
on the borders of the Seine? But tell me, don’t you, too, have 
a lump in your throat when you think of the dear old fort ? 
Adieu to the happy tranquillity of yore ! I am launched in 
the swim of life ! ’ ’ 


It was not of tlie old fort that MacDuff was 
mostly thinking after finishing this letter. An- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


203 


other name upon which his eyes had rested 
absorbed his thoughts. But at this moment 
young Bernaz appeared, as he did several times 
a week, during the short respite which was 
allowed him for breakfast. He inquired about 
his friend’s health and the impressions he had 
brought hack from his trip. 

“ The impressions were rather sad. But, to begin 
with, do you know where I have been ? To Savoy, 
and on my way I have seen Chateau Bernaz.” 

“ Ah,” said Helion, “ so you have seen Bernaz. 
I hope I shall never see it again. Let us speak 
of something else.” 

“ Willingly. I have just had a piece of news : 
Miss Burton, my great friend, is coming to 
France.” 

“ Bad news for me ! This ‘ great friend’ will 
monopolise you. One will never see you.” 

‘‘How, listen to what I tell you,” said Mac- 
Duff, laughing. “ I was a captain and twenty- 
eight years old when Logan Burton was horn. 
So curb your imagination. But I shall be en- 
chanted to make my two great friends meet.” 

“ Oh, I am afraid of American girls,” ob- 
jected Helion. “I have chanced to meet some 
at my employers’, who are your compatriots. I 
found them charming, delightful, amazing, and 
so well dressed. But they evince a joy in the 
mere living which has something almost insolent 
in it for those — whose opinion of life is so differ- 


204 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ent. They seem to wear a label bearing these 
words: ‘Do not present yourself if you cannot 
embellish our existence in one way or another.’ 
But I am poor and gloomy, especially in these 
last days, and am not up to the flirting mark.” 

“Well,” said the major, “you know the 
American girls of Paris, those whom your 
writers picture in their books and plays. Wait 
until you have become acquainted with Logan 

Burton But why are you gloomy, especially 

in these last days ?” 

“ Because I think so much of my mother.” 

“ Then you did not think much of her 
before ?” 

“ I will make a confession. Monsieur MacDufli 
Dp to now I believe I have lived without think- 
ing. It is such a comfort, you know, not to 
think and not to sufier.” 

“Yes,” said the major; “and for this reason 
I sometimes envy those who sleep in their 
graves, where all sorrows are forgotten.” 

A few days later Logan landed with her Aunt 
Georgie, Cousin Bob, and a maid. An apartment 
at the Chatham had been reserved for them, 
which was pronounced “ quite decent after all,” 
considering that Parisian hotels do not resemble 
those of Yew York. The family settled them- 
selves there, and the next morning each one 
went out to attend to his respective business ; 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


205 


Aunt Georgie to Worth’s; Cousin Robert to 
Rrexel and Company; Miss Burton, accom- 
panied by the maid, visited Erard to rent the 
finest piano of that bouse and give her orders 
concerning its transportation. After making 
sure the evening would not pass without music, 
she breathed freer. Then entering a florist’s 
she bought some roses, putting several at her 
corsage to complete her costume. She carried 
the others with her to the Grand Hotel, and, 
adding her card, sent them to MacDuflf, who 
had been warned by a telegram the evening 
before that he would receive a visit. He has- 
tened to meet her, and the gilt decorations of 
the large salon witnessed a tender meeting. As 
the young traveller dismissed her maid, whom 
she considered as unnecessary, — 

“ I have an idea,” proposed the major. “ Sup- 
pose you remain with me for luncheon?” 

Logan clapped her hands with delight, and the 
respectable Watkins was charged with a message 
to Aunt Georgie that the young lady would lunch 
out. For a few seconds MacDuff regarded his 
“ great friend” in silence, then instinctively his 
look sought for another who should have been 
by her side. 

‘‘You are disappointed at seeing me alone,” 
said Logan ; nothing escaped her eyes. “ I did 
everything I could to make her come. I long so 
much for her to be here.” 

18 


206 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


MacDuff changed the conversation, and asked 
after the general, of the life he led in E'ew York, 
and news of the fort. Once on this subject the 
two interlocutors forgot the flight of time. Sud- 
denly Logan declared she was starving, and 
they repaired to the dining-room. After dessert 
the major, without preamble, said, — 

‘‘You have dilated upon everybody Except 
Cousin Robert. I suppose you are still the little 
Logan for me, even though the beautiful plait 
that you used to wear is now rolled up in a most 
grown-up way. Might one question you V’ 

“ Always, TJncle Duffy. What do you want to 
know? What I think of Cousin Robert? He 
is a good fellow; I like him very much. His 
mind, his face, his ways, please me. Time passes 
more quickly with him than with any other, — 
you alone excepted.” 

“ So much the worse, my dear, for a hundred 
to one I shall never ask you to marry me, while 
the amiable Robert will, if my presentiments are 
correct.” 

“As for him, it would not be safe to bet,” 
said Logan, with a heavy sigh. “ If I should 
give him any encouragement, he would propose 
to me to-day.” 

“ Just as I thought. But then, what are you 
waiting for ?” 

“ Well, Uncle Duffy, this is what I am waiting 
for, — a day to come when I shall find it a penalty 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


207 


to leave Robert to breakfast without me at the 
Hotel Chatham while I breakfast with you at 
the Grand Hotel. How, I am very sorry for 
Cousin Bob, but I am perfectly happy with you 
at this moment.” 

‘‘ So, I am now only a sort of scales to weigh 
your affections. Ah! little one, the day Mr. 
Somebody will take, in this good, loyal heart, 
the place of old Uncle Dufiy will not be one of 
rejoicing to me.” 

“Well, then, I am better than you; for the 
day when a lady not Mrs. Somebody did take 
the place of poor little Tow-head, I did rejoice, — 
a little too quickly, alas !” 

She made a melancholy gesture ; then, tossing 
aside her napkin, she left the table. “ Come with 
me. Uncle Huffy, and I will introduce you to my 
aunt.” 

As they were crossing the court Logan saw 
the major shake the hand of a tall young man 
with a well-developed black beard, whose face 
was distinguished and sad. 

“You see that I received a surprise,” said 
MacHuff to the new-comer. “Miss Burton, 
Count de Bernaz. My dear Helion, this is the 
old friend of whom I spoke to you. Ho you find 
that she wears the label ?” 

“ Ho,” replied the young man, reddening ; “ or 
at least not that which I meant.” 

Logan was silent, somewhat embarrassed by 


208 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


this mysterious reference. And, moreover, she 
found herself for the first time presented to a 
count. On one side, in spite of her republican 
education, she felt that consideration for the 
aristocracy which is innate in the Anglo-Saxon 
race; on the other, she had against the young 
Frenchman the prejudices of a great number of 
American girls. Must it he admitted that Ma- 
dame Hertel had combated these prejudices of 
her young friend with little enthusiasm. 

Helion did not need to look long at the 
young girl to discover that his visit was mat d, 
propos. As he was taking his leave, a little de- 
pressed by the coolness of the meeting, the 
major said, — 

“ Come this evening : we will dine tete-a-tete 
and afterwards go to the theatre. Make your 
choice of a play.” 

Helion accepted, showing gratitude more by 
his looks than by his words, and went away, bow- 
ing low to the young lady, who seemed more 
and more embarrassed. 

“Well, my child, you failed here to make a 
conversion,” sighed MacDufi*. “ I counted upon 
you to cure this good fellow of the French pre- 
judices against the American girl, — a chapter 
always elaborated upon in French books on 
America. But you did not lend me a helping 
hand.” 

“ Is he a count ?” asked Logan. “ Indeed, he 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 209 

did not have the look of one. Cousin Bob has 
no title and is much better dressed than he.” 

I do not doubt it. But then, are we so far 
from Koutenai that in Miss Burton’s eyes it is a 
crime for people to be poor ?” 

‘‘ Is the Count de Bernaz poor ?” 

Extremely. He works for his living. And 
at this hour while going to his duties he thinks 
that, decidedly, a good tailor is not too much to 
win the consideration of the young American 
girls.” 

‘‘What nonsense !” said Logan, tapping her 
foot impatiently. 

Crossing the Boulevard interrupted the con- 
versation. When they were beyond the sea of 
carriages, the young girl replied, — 

“ I do not think that I deserve to he accused 
of snobbishness. Only, I tell you, I am ignorant 
of how one ought to talk to a count, and then 
he is the first Frenchman who has been intro- 
duced to me.” 

“ Ah ! is it possible ?” said MacDufl*, becoming 
pensive. “ There are many strange things in 
this world.” 

In the evening, after having dined with his 
friend, Helion appeared fatigued. 

“ If you are willing,” said he, “ we will stay 
at home and talk, instead of going to the the- 
atre.” 


18 * 


210 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


When they were settled in their arm-chairs 
MacDnff put this question : 

“What do you think of my young compa- 
triot ?” 

Helion closed his eyes a second, then replied, 
“Honestly, I have not seen her. I could not 
tell you if she is tall or short, if she is pretty or 
not. All that I remember of her is a sort of 
golden helmet, which dazzled me ; then two 
azure spots. Do you think me stupid ? Have 
you ever noticed those luminous - points which 
scintillate, revolve, grow broader to the eyes at 
night, after gazing too long at an electric light ? 
Well, at this very moment, when I close my eyes 
in the darkness, I see these two clear spots ; it is 
an effect I have never discovered in any other 
human look.” 

“ I feared you had found Miss Burton a little 
— reserved. She is the best of creatures in spite 
of appearances.” 

“Well, it cannot be denied that the appear- 
ance But I did not so much as hear her 

voice.” 

Helion fell into a silence and closed his eyes. 
Then he said, shaking his head, — 

“ Ah, those spots !” 

“ Shouldn’t you like to know a little more of 
her ?” asked MacDuff, after some seconds of re- 
flection. 

“I am not a lady’s man. I scarcely know 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


211 


how to enter a salon. This young girl would 
only find me a bore ; thoughts which are any- 
thing hut bright fill my mind; my life is 
troubled by difficult problems. Why should I 
not acknowledge it ? One idea constantly 
haunts me. Have I told you that my mother 
is in America ?” 

“ Ho ; it is the first time,” answered the major. 

“ She is in America, though in what State I 
do not know. Monsieur Fischel knows, per- 
haps; he knows everything! And now all 
America seems to be coming to me. First you ; 
then through you my employment; so it is 
even to that country I owe my bread; then 
this young lady, who has just landed; and you 
have been to Savoy and visited Bernaz, — all 
this combination is singular, one would almost 
say a mysterious forewarning. Monsieur Mac- 
Duff, listen to me. I will find my mother !” 

“ You will,” said MacDuff. “ This is the first 
time that I have ever heard you conjugate this 
fine verb. You have scarcely been taught to 
think, never to will. But no doubt you have 
had some depressing nightmare. Your trouble 
weighs upon you.” 

“ How little confidence you have in my will !” 
sighed Helion. “You are wrong ; I would start 
to-morrow if it were possible. Alas ! I am held 
by a heavy chain, — poverty ; and then, there is 
my father ; his health makes me anxious.” 


212 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘Are you less anxious, then, for the health 
of someone else said MacDuff, with a sort 
of impatience. “ At least you know your father 
is alive.’’ 

Struck by the anguish which he perceived the 
young man was suffering, he continued almost 
immediately in a gentler tone : 

“ Courage ! Will works miracles. There will 
be two of us to will if you are persevering. For 
I am your friend for good, not for evil.” 

“Yes, Monsieur MacDuff, and I appreciate 
the difference. If I had only known you 
sooner !” 

At these words Helion departed, returning to 
his home less unhappy. When his head was 
upon his pillow and the lamp extinguished, he 
saw again in the silent night those two blue 
spots beneath a golden aureole. He smiled 
then with something like a slight movement 
of impatience ; at last, overcome by fatigue, he 
fell asleep. 

The next day, Sunday morning, MacDuff* was 
called to the telephone. 

“ Hello, Uncle Duffy !” sang out a voice which 
he recognised. “ Come to luncheon ; afterwards 
I want you.” 

“ I accept for luncheon, but my afternoon is 
engaged.” 

“ Oh, confound it ! Your afternoon is engaged, 
— ^with a handsome lady, of course.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 213 

“ 1^0 ; with a handsome gentleman, who will 
come at two o’clock to meet me.” 

“ Well, then, you must sacrifice the handsome 
gentleman for little Logan.” 

“ Impossible ; you shall he the judge. I will 
he with you immediately.” 

MacDuff found his young friend and Cousin 
Boh bending over a map of Paris. 

“We are going soon to the Jardin d’Acclima- 
tation,” explained Logan. “Aunt Georgie in- 
sists upon remaining at home out of dread of- 
the Sunday crowd. You see that you are the 
indispensable chaperon.” 

Eobert Page made a protesting sign. 

“ In-dis-pen-sahle,” the young girl declared; 
“ so you will telegraph the gentleman — the 
young man of yesterday, I suppose — ^that you 
have fallen in with a rich relation from America 
who will leave you lots of money; he is dis- 
agreeable and paralytic, and you cannot possibly 
leave his arm-chair.” 

“ Why so many lies ?” 

“ Because if you tell the truth the young man 
will wish to join us.” 

“What modesty! But quite the contrary, I 
believe that the young man will prefer to remain 
alone. You have been a little discouraging to 
him, and he will not have had time to see his 
tailor since yesterday.” 

In speaking so he glanced at the very elegant 


214 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Robert, wlio still bent over the map. Miss Bur- 
ton shrugged her shoulders, and, recalling a cir- 
cumstance of yesterday, said, — 

“ By the way, what was the mysterious joke 
about a label V’ 

MacDuff explained, which seemed to ruffle 
Robert Page’s national conceit. Leaving his 
topographical work, he said, — 

I have read many criticisms still wittier than 
Monsieur le Comte’s label. It is amazing: 
when Heaven sends some Americans to France 
these Frenchmen are amused by them, flatter 
them, encourage them in their eccentricities, and 
profit by their extravagance; then they turn 
them into ridicule, or else expose them to the 
world’s execration for their cruelty, when they 
do not marry them for their millions.” 

The entrance of Aunt Georgie put an end to 
this tirade. During the breakfast the question 
was again started as to how the day should be 
employed, but Mrs. Tremont persisted in her re- 
fusal to mingle with the Sunday crowd. When 
the meal was finished Logan drew MacDuff aside 
and said to him, — 

“ How selfish she is ! Here am I obliged to 
remain at home since you won’t come.” 

‘‘Everybody is selfish, my dear. You wish 
me, for your sake, to leave a poor fellow 
out in the cold who has nothing, while you 
have everything ; whose week contains but 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 215 

one Sunday, while yours contains seven Sun- 
days !” 

Well,” said the young girl, after a moment’s 
reflection, “bring your friend along. We will 
try to dispel his blue devils.” 

Helion, exact at his rendezvous, at first was 
anything hut pleased by MacDufi;”s proposition. 
To say nothing of the disdain which he fancied 
he had seen in Logan, his timidity overbalanced 
the tastes natural at his age. But understanding 
that a refusal would inconvenience everybody 
and would risk offending the young American, 
he accepted. 

Miss Burton welcomed Helion by a cordial 
shake of the hand. At heart she had the less 
dread of this count because he worked for his 
living. In the absence of Mrs. Tremont she 
introduced Eobert Page to the new-comer, and 
at once saw they were not sympathetic to each 
other. It was rare, however, that a friend 
presented by her did please Cousin Boh. His 
temper did not improve on the way when he 
saw that Logan exerted herself to entertain 
Helion. He was astonished to see her display 
something which resembled coquetry. But that 
was the mere illusion of jealousy. Miss Burton 
was not a coquette, hut she bore in mind Mac- 
Duft”s words, “You have everything, he has 
nothing.” 

While listening to the American he looked 


216 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


at her eyes, her twist of golden hair^ which at- 
tracted the passers-by. On taking a closer in- 
ventory he saw that this small piece of humanity 
had a dazzling complexion and beautiful teeth. 
In short, when they alighted at the entrance of 
the Jar din his great rancour of the evening 
before was dissipated. There were twenty thou- 
sand persons pressed in compact ranks against 
the railing which surrounded the grass plot. 
This crowd spoke little, laughing occasionally 
at one of those witticisms of the Parisian bour- 
geois which make a crowd laugh — in Paris. 
Logan and her three companions approached. 
This day there was an encampment of Indians, 
which served to amuse the people. The teepees 
stood out from the grass, where some “ warriors” 
galloped their ponies, half dead with fatigue. 
Others, accompanied by a dozen squaws and 
papooses, were wandering around slowly in the 
enclosure, wearing the cunning, peevish expres- 
sion habitual to them, but with the supreme 
brutishness of the captive animal which begs 
for cakes, indifferent to the jests of the curious. 

Bernaz elbowed a way for the young girl, that 
she might approach nearer. He was surprised 
to see that she was quite pale, and that her eyes 
had become of a dark blue and were sunken in 
their orbits. 

“Let us go away,” she said, with emotion. 
“ I cannot bear to see these unhappy creatures 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


217 


treated like beasts, who, after all, are men and 
women.” 

She withdrew, followed by her companions. 
MacDuff appeared thoughtful, Robert showed 
some impatience, Helion had not yet understood. 
It was to him that Logan addressed herself 
when they were out of the crowd : 

‘‘ I beg of you to excuse me ; this exhibition 
breaks my heart. I lived so long among the 
Indians ! The sight of them recalls so many 
things, so many people whom I have loved. Is 
it not a shame that your country authorises the 
debasement of these men and women who are 
our brothers and sisters ?” 

As though to excuse his cousin, Robert Page 
said, “I ask myself when Miss Burton will be 
tired of struggling with her sublime theories 
against the imperfections of this world.” 

“And I ask myself, how you, a lawyer, can 
support this violation of the great law of 
charity!” 

“Remember, Logan, that these Indians are 
there of their own free will. Moreover, coins 
rain upon them.” 

“We shall never understand each other. You 
agree with me, I am sure. Uncle Duffy. Poor 
people ! How the sight of them takes me back ! 
Do you remember ? It was a year ago at this 
same season, we were at the Indian reservation. 
I can still see Madame Hertel (one of your com- 


218 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


patriots, Monsieur de Bernaz) quite upset by tbe 
sight of this Indian mother whom her son no 
longer recognised ; for, to tell the truth, Ameri- 
can philanthropy toward the Indian is not with- 
out its cruelty.” 

Robert Page, who had resolved to enter poli- 
tics, wished to know the incident. During the 
young girl’s recital MacDuff ’s eyes never left the 
face of Bernaz, who listened with painful atten- 
tion to the story, which in a measure seemed 
analogous to his own, even as his mother had 
found a resemblance to hers. When Logan had 
finished, her cousin said to her, — 

‘‘You are not consistent. Since these men 
and women are our brothers and sisters they 
should be brought up like us, which cannot be 
done in the maternal wigwam. This chap who 
made you indignant might, if he has capabil- 
ity, become a member of Congress, a Senator, 
President. If he is handsome he can turn the 
head of another Logan Burton, who would marry 
him ” 

“ Oh ! Marry him ! Hever !” cried the young 
girl. 

“ Why, you admit, then, the inferiority of the 
race ?” 

“ It is not a question of race, my cousin. But 
this boy, who has forgotten his mother, is ac- 
cursed. Were I a miserable negress and he a 
prince, and he should entreat me to marry him, 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


219 


I would refuse. You cannot understand. You 
did not see this poor woman kneeling near her 
son, who would not even cast his eyes on her. 
No doubt he was afraid of being sent hack to 
his tribe !” 

“ Don’t let us argue any longer,” said Eohert, 
taking his cousin’s hand. ‘‘ I trust that you 
know I have always been a good son. We law- 
yers talk too much sometimes, hut a man can he 
better than his words.” 

Logan’s smile showed she was not angry, and 
at this moment they reached the landau. Ap- 
parently Eohert Page was in the good graces of 
the young girl once more. They chatted a great 
deal while making the tour of the Bois. Helion, 
on the contrary, was silent, and MacDuff was 
likewise taciturn. When they left the carriage 
Logan said to the young count, — 

“ You will come soon to see us ? I want my 
aunt to meet you. We will fix a day, and our 
mutual friend will let you know.” 

Their hands met, and Logan disappeared, 
leaving as an adieu one of those winged smiles 
which tarry after certain women. 

‘‘ Of all the creatures whom I have ever met,” 
said Helion to the major, that is the one whose 
friendship I should most vdsh to gain.” 

MacDuff answered, That is a compliment, 
very fine, indeed, hut at the same time a little 
calm in the mouth of a young man of your age. 


220 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


But, perhaps, you have nothing else to give but 
friendship 

It was the first time that MacDufi* had 
broached so personal a question to young Ber- 
naz, who burst out laughing. 

Monsieur le Major,” said he, you forget that 
I have just spent twelve months in military ser- 
vice, and since my first moustaches I have lived 
between two men who have had but one idea, — 
to make me work. How or with whom have I 
been able to form a friendship, except with your- 
self? And, to tell you the truth, you met me 
half-way.” 

“ It seems to me that you are forgetting your 
friend Fischel.” 

“ May God grant me grace one day to he able 
to forget him. Monsieur. Until then many 
things must he accomplished, one especially, — 
my poor mother !” 

‘‘ Courage,” said MacDufi* ; “ I will assist you 
if you are resolved to go forward.” 

Helion refused MacDuff’s invitation to dine en 
famille, as he said, with a smile. Deeming that the 
hour had not come to broach certain grave sub- 
jects, he tried to amuse his father by relating the 
incidents of his afternoon with full details. For 
the first time he expatiated at length on MacDufi*, 
and no less on Miss Burton, praising her heart, 
her intelligence, her justice. He even valued 
Bohert Page and his remarkably practical mind. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


221 


“An engaged couple, no doubt?” remarked 
Maxime. 

Then, as his son relapsed into the silence he 
usually maintained in the family circle, the Mar- 
quis retired, leaving this parting shot : 

“You are becoming deucedly American, my 
dear boy !” 

Helion dreamed of Indians, fights and rides 
across the prairies in the midst of the red-skins, 
all in the company of a certain pale-face with 
azure eyes and golden hair. While his sleep 
was filled with these dreams the evening com- 
pany at Mrs. Tremont’s had not broken up. At 
precisely this moment the pale-face was saying 
to the major, in speaking of this young man, — 

“ I find something in his physiognomy which 
is sympathetic, and at the same time, I don’t 
know what, singularly familiar. And, moreover, 
he has all my ideas.” 

The major nodded with an odd smile, but did 
not reply. Helion was the image of his mother, 
which explained the singular familiarity experi- 
enced by Logan. But respecting his ideas, it 
must be admitted that that was all supposition. 

“ Ah, my dear,” said Aunt Georgie, “ you do 
not know Frenchmen. It is impossible for them 
to be near a woman without saying amen to all 
her words.” 

“Well, this politeness is agreeable,” answered 
Logan. “ To find by chance a man who does 
19 * 


222 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


not crush one by his superiority — that is refresh- 
ing.” 

My dear cousin, how terribly French you 
are becoming !” remarked Robert Page. 

“ My dear cousin, should the desire so seize 
me, I have the right to become Chinese, and 
each day I thank God that I have the right.” 

The following day toward noon MacDulF was 
reading the papers when he saw Logan appear, 
followed by her maid. 

“Well,” cried the major, gaily, “you are not 
yet dressed like a Chinese. So much the better 
for you and for this cousin Bob. Poor fellow, he 
seems to have entered into the way of trials.” 

“He has begged my pardon — and he has 
promised to be kind to your friend Monsieur de 
Bernaz. By the way, where does the count live ? 
I wish to write him that my aunt will be pleased 
to see him this evening.” 

“If you please,” corrected MacDuiF, “I will 
write. We are no longer in America. But that 
is not necessary, for I am expecting him.” 

Helion appeared shortly. He did not look 
well and seemed very sad. MacDuff questioned 
him, — 

“ What is the matter ? You look sick or tired.” 

“Heither the one nor the other. Hot much 
disposed to work, that is all. But I would not 
be better disposed to pleasure.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


223 


“ That is what we call at home ‘ blue devils/ ” 
said Logan. “ My aunt treats them by homoeop- 
athy ; but I think it is better to treat them as 
you do now, by a dose of friendship.’^ She 
turned a bright look toward MacDuff, then 
glancing at young Bernaz, she said, “ Come, 
cheer up, our friend is charged with a message 
for you. We will try to make you pass a pleas- 
ant evening.” 

With a charming gesture she extended her 
hand to Helion. To the major she made a 
pretty sign of adieu with the tips of her fingers, 
and as lively as a bird Logan disappeared. 

“ I wager that you feel better,” said MacDufi*. 
“ This child would brighten up a man con- 
demned to death.” 

Certain people are very lucky,” sighed Helion. 

“You must add that certain beings bring 
happiness to others. Miss Burton is one of 
these, you will see it.” 

“ I was not referring to Miss Burton.” 

“ To whom, then ?” 

“ To Eobert Page.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Fate had not imposed upon Aunt Georgie, a 
childless widow, the obligation of caring for 
others; from her own disposition she had a 


224 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


strong inclination to care for herself. She was 
thoroughly selfish, though, to tell the truth, in 
an amiable way, for she loved to surround her- 
self with everything which makes life sweet, 
particularly with smiling faces. For this reason 
her niece Logan had at the first glance won her 
good graces; on the other hand, in order to 
avoid the administration of a large fortune, she 
had more or less adopted her nephew Eohert 
Page. Finally, anxious to keep these young 
people near her, she wished to see them suit 
each other and marry. But she did not intend 
to be responsible for anything, and forebore from 
any direct intervention. 

From the beginning Mrs. Tremont was well 
disposed toward young Bernaz. She was less 
indiflhrent than her niece to heraldic coronets, 
even though she had always been straitlaced 
and serious, “ a true Puritan,” so Logan said. 
Flattered that a count should solicit the honour 
of being presented to her, she was charming; 
and for a quarter of an hour Helion paid his 
court to the lady with a timid grace which 
served to complete the conquest. During this 
time Miss Burton was seated at her piano, play- 
ing sotto voce. Suddenly she turned around and 
found the young man standing near her drinking 
in her music. Kobert Page had gone for a walk, 
while Mrs. Tremont and MacDufi;* were talking 
of America. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


225 


Helion opened his month to pay a compliment. 

“ Oh, naturally,” said Logan, you are going 
to say that I play like an angel. Spare me hack- 
neyed compliments. You listen to me, which is 
better than all the compliments in the world. I 
rarely have a listener such as I would like. Some 
don’t hear me, and think of something else, like 
my aunt. Some patiently tolerate my music, 
like our friend MacDuff. Then there are others 
who go away, like Eohert Page ; no, indeed, he 
is not musical.” 

This last, said with a sigh, seemed like an 
aside. Helion also sighed, for reasons which 
he alone knew. What did he gain by loving 
music ? Perceiving that he was silent and had 
an air of deep melancholy, she wheeled around 
on the stool by his side and asked, — 

‘‘ Your ‘ blue devils’ are not dispelled ? I hope 
at least that you will leave them here.” 

Oh, I fear not,” answered the young man. 
“ But they are company, after all, and I will speak 
with them — of your music.” 

“ Do you know something. Monsieur de Ber- 
naz? I believe that you lack energy. Every 
man at your age is a soldier, whose duty it is to 
struggle and to conquer.” 

‘‘So I have already heard. Mademoiselle. 
But I seem to be like those unlucky recruits of 
a defeated army who will never rally. Fate has 
not destined me to be a conqueror of life.” 

V 


226 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


The conquerors of life /” repeated Logan. 
“ One of our finest poets has spoken of them. 
His verses will do you good. Listen : 

“ ‘ Speak, History I Wlio are Life’s victors ? 

Unroll thy long annals and say ; 

Are they those whom the world called the victors — 
Who won the success of the day ? 

The martyrs or Nero ? The Spartans 
Who fell at Thermopylgs’s tryst, 

Or the Persians and Xerxes ? His judges 
Or Socrates ? Pilate or Christ ?’ ” 


These beautiful lines of Story recited by this 
musical voice seemed like a divine melody on a 
priceless instrument. The language of her eyes, 
the expression of her face, the calm movement 
of her hands, were all in harmony with the poet’s 
thought. Helion absorbed this melody with sin- 
gular avidity. But suddenly the young girl’s 
countenance was brightened by a smile, slightly 
malicious. She said, looking at her auditor, — 
Here you are, quite agitated as though you 
were Polyeucte, Leonidas, or even Socrates ! 
"What have you done, what suffered, compared 
to the things that these men have had the cour- 
age to do and to suffer ?” 

Then, as he also smiled, though sadly and 
without answering, she changed the subject, and 
looking at him attentively, she asked, — 

“ Ho you believe that our souls are successively 
employed in different incarnations ?” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


227 


“ Oh,” said the astonished young man, ‘‘ the 
uncertainties of real life suffice largely to fill 
my thoughts ; hut why this question ?” 

“Because I could almost think that I have 
met you in another existence. I have the im- 
pression of already having known you. It would 

interest me to know if on your side ” 

With a gesture the young man interrupted 
her, and replied, more seriously than common- 
place gallantry would have required, — 

“ IN’o, Mademoiselle ; I have never met on this 
planet nor on any other a being who in the least 
resembles you.” 

As he finished these words Aunt Georgie 
raised her drawling voice, — 

“ Logan, my dear, you too much monopolise 
the count.” 

Immediately the conversation grew general, 
and continued so until the two men departed. 
They had both been invited to dinner the fol- 
lowing week. 

“Well,” said MacDuff, “I suppose now you 
are well informed on the subject of Miss Burton, 
and would he better able than formerly to say 

whether she was tall or short, pretty or ” 

“ Indeed, not much. All these adjectives are 
hut terms of comparison, and when I am near 
her I forget to compare. If she is short, so 
much the worse for the tall ones ; if she is not 
pretty, so much the worse for the beautiful ones.” 


228 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘ Did you tell her all this V’ 

“ I ? I didn’t tell her anything. I only listened, 
more and more surprised. Do you understand ? 
An American who is an artist, a poet, who has 
read Theosophy, and, in the bargain, is an en- 
thusiast !” 

“ She has many other qualities,” said the major. 
“Ko one else possesses an equal talent to give 
hope to those who need it. I wager you have 
found it out !” 

“ Alas ! it is not a question of reviving a soul 
bent beneath a vague, Musset-like sadness. My 
case rather requires the power of a sorceress. I 
must find my mother in a much larger country 
than Europe, and I have neither the time nor 
means. I will cross the ocean.” 

“You still will it ?” 

“ Ah, Monsieur MacDufi*, if only I could be 
shown at this moment a boat ready to sail on 
which I might have permission to embark.” 

“My dear Helion, do you remember my 
promise? I do not forget it, and — the boat is 
not so far off, perhaps, as you think.” 

“ Is it possible ! I can go soon ?” 

“ The sooner the better for you,” replied Mac- 
Duff, without explaining more. 

Helion did not answer, except by a heavy sigh. 
Perhaps now he had other reasons to keep him 
in port besides an empty purse and his father’s 
health. After a short silence, he asked, — 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


229 


“But when I reach America, where shall I 
lookr 

“ We will see,” said the major; “ and you can 
count upon my assistance to carry the enterprise 
through.” 

“Dear Monsieur MacDuff, how can I ever 
repay all these extraordinary kindnesses ?” 

“ I only ask one thing,” said the mysterious 
benefactor, whose voice suddenly grew graver. 
“ When you have obtained your mother’s pardon, 
tell her what a — stranger has done for her and 
your happiness.” 

“ She shall know everything,” answered He- 
lion, — “ all, everyone of your kindnesses, every- 
one of your words which have opened my eyes. 
But, alas ! will she forgive me ?” 

“Do not doubt her heart,” said MacDuff, 
severely. “ It would he the most unpardonable 
of faults.” 

The day of the dinner Logan caught sight of 
the major as she came out of a florist’s. Her 
maid carried a great bunch of roses. Quicken- 
ing her pace, she joined him. 

“Ah,” said he, noticing the flowers, “I see 
you are indulging in your favourite passion. 
By the way, I wish to speak to you.” 

Watkins sent on to the hotel, Miss Burton 
took her friend’s arm and said, — 

“ What have you to tell me ?” 

“ I have a few words of caution to give you. 

20 


230 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


When you write to Madame Hertel, do not men- 
tion young Bernaz.” 

“ Why not, pray 

“ Because ‘ it is orders,^ as we used to say at 
the fort. I hope you have not lost the military 
discipline.’' 

‘‘All right, Monsieur le Major, I shall he 
mum. Now a question. Is it equally forbidden 
to mention you ?” 

With this she turned her eyes, as piercing as 
gimlets, on MacBuff. 

“ Why should it he forbidden ?” he answered, 
as his bronzed cheeks took on a warmer tint. 

When Helion called for his companion to go 
to the Chatham, he heard a great piece of news. 
His employers were going to send him to New 
York to perfect his knowledge in their main 
factory. 

“ You see,” said MacBuff, “ I was right when 
I told you that the boat was not far off. You 
will start soon; but the date is not fixed.” 

The young man pressed his hand with a pas- 
sionate burst of gratitude. “You are able to do 
everything,” said he. “ I wonder if you are not 
Bertram in ‘ Robert le Biable’ ? but a Bertram 
who used his black art only for good.” 

“No; lam only an old soldier for whom his 
compatriots have some regard. Now, come to 
dinner. Are you happy ?” 

“Yes; but happy with a fear. I am ap- 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 231 

proacliing a decisive moment in my life. Will 
you cross with me ?” 

‘‘Probably; my leave expires in l^ovember.’’ 

While the two men were on their way to the 
Hotel Chatham they did not speak. To look at 
them, one might have asked which of the two 
was the more affected at the thought of this 
voyage. 

The dinner commenced like every other din- 
ner. It was served in Mrs. Tremont’s apartment. 
The table charmed the eye by a profusion of 
flowers, which an American hostess deems as 
necessary as bread, and which in France is 
scarcely known. Aunt Georgie deigned to com- 
pliment Logan on her roses. 

“ Why, cousin,” remarked Pohert Page, “ you 
did not have such elaborate flowers the other 
day when our consul and his wife dined here.” 

“ You forget, then, the American motto : 
‘ Honour and welcome to the stranger.’ ” 

“ The motto is fine, I admit ; only strangers 
profit by it a little too much ; we are no longer 
at home, in Hew York.” 

“ But,” said Helion, “ if you should clear your 
country of strangers there would only Indians 
remain.” 

“ Do not discourage the count, my dear Mr. 
Page. It is precisely his intention to swell the 
list of strangers in America.” 

Logan clapped her hands enthusiastically. 


232 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ What !” she exclaimed ; you are coming to 
us? It will be charming to cross together. We 
shall start in six weeks.’’ 

MacDuff riveted his eyes on Helion. What 
would he answer? Was he really yearning to 
see his mother ? 

The young man came out from this trial vic- 
torious. He replied, with a little regret in his 
smile, ‘‘ WTiat I have to do in America cannot 
wait. If it depended upon myself I would sail 
to-morrow.” 

“Business is becoming very dull with us,” 
observed Cousin Bob, who decidedly did not 
encourage emigration. 

Without further delay Logan undertook to 
perfect Helion’s practical education, by judicious 
advice as to the manner of spending the least 
money in Hew York. 

“ Indeed, my cousin,” said Kobert Page, 
“ should poverty overtake you, it will he quite 
easy to pull yourself out of the difficulty.” 

“ Oh, my father says that I was born to be the 
wife of a poor man.” 

For Cousin Bob, who was known to be very 
rich, this reply had nothing particularly agree- 
able. Stroking his moustache, he said, — 

“ Have you, then, absolutely decided upon a 
poor husband? That would be disheartening 
for those of your admirers who have the bad 
luck to possess something.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


233 


“ In France we would tell you your admirers 
would hurry to ruin themselves/’ said young 
Bernaz. 

‘‘ Oh,” Eohert answered, “ we have not the 
talent like yon of saying pretty things to women ; 
but we marry them for love and without a dot.” 

“ Sometimes, not always,” remarked Miss 
Burton. 

These words, underlined by a significant pout, 
threw a damper on the conversation, and it was 
noticeable that the three youngest of the com- 
pany were under a slightly nervous tension. 
When they had left the table Mrs. Tremont 
went to an open window and consulted the 
heavens above the narrow court. 

“ What shall we do ?” she asked. “ My lan- 
dau is waiting, but the sky seems overcast. 
Shall we go out or remain at home ?” 

MacDuff and Eobert Page were of the opinion 
that the open air was the most valuable thing 
for digestion. Logan looked at Helion, who 
said nothing. But evidently she had divined 
his wish, for, feigning to listen attentively, she 
exclaimed, — 

“ Is that thunder that I have just heard ?” 

“ Thunder ?” cried Aunt Georgie, whose weak 
points Logan knew. “ If you please, my nephew, 
send away the carriage, and close the window, 
little one.” 

“ I will take the carriage,” said Eobert Page, 
20 * 


234 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘ and, in spite of my cousin’s thunder, will take 
a turn in the Bois.” 

He disappeared without concealing his bad 
humour, which, to tell the truth, did not seem 
to disturb anyone. Mrs. Tremont settled herself 
to enjoy two things she highly appreciated, — re- 
pose and MacDulf ’s conversation. Logan opened 
her piano, and, drawing off her rings, said to 
Helion, who had unconsciously followed her, — 

“ The open air did not tempt you 

“ Oh, in a week or two I shall have open air 
in abundance — and I shall not have you.” 

‘‘We will see each other in America. Shall 
you be there a long time ?” 

“Who knows? There can so many things 
happen on this trip. Besides, I am going over 
there to work. Here I belong a little to society, 
while with you ” 

“ With us everybody works. Ask our friend 
MacDuff. He will tell you that at first I had 
little confidence in you, because I took you for 
an idler.” 

“ And now ?” 

“How you see very well that confidence is not 
lacking.” 

Without saying more she sat down to play; 
and like a fiight of birds from a suddenly opened 
cage her plump fingers alighted on the keys. 
Then, after the wild explosion of a prelude in 
which the ardour of a heart of eighteen had full 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


235 


sway, her hands seemed to languish, and the 
fervent, adorable melody of Liszt’s “Liehes- 
traunie” slowly rose, soon to abandon itself to 
the intense delirium of passion. And when the 
voluptuous tempest had subsided into a caressing 
movement, there was a silence which Helion did 
not wish to break. And once more the har- 
monies flowed, and the freshness of night seemed 
to emerge beneath the vague light of stars lost 
in azure. Two voices spoke, — one promising, 
the other accepting love, and from two blended 
souls exhaled a happiness almost painful in its 
excess of ecstasy, of which Chopin alone knows 
the' mystery. Then, the lovers’ dialogue silenced, 
one could imagine them clasped in each other’s 
arms holding their breath, the better to listen to 
the nightingale, whose roulades dropped like 
pearls from the obscurity of the branches. Stand- 
ing behind Logan, Helion, transported, scarcely 
breathed, as though afraid to startle and put to 
flight the melodious bird. He could not take 
his eyes from the plump neck, smooth as ivory, 
which protruded from the softest crepe that Japan 
has ever produced to caress a blonde flesh. He 
felt a happiness unknown up to this minute, 
irritated in a way by the thought that he should 
never again experience such an hour. When she 
left the piano Logan said, with a slight shiver, as 
though she had just come in from the night air, — 
“You heard the nightingale ?” 


236 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Helion trembled sympathetically, and replied, 
I heard all. I will never forget this hour.” 

“ That piece is pretty. What is the name of 
it, my dear asked Mrs. Tremont. 

Logan, with a slight irritation, answered re- 
signedly, “ It is the D flat major Nocturne of 
Chopin.’’ 

“You never play it.” 

“ Oh, yes, aunt. I often play it for myself 
when I am alone.” 

Logan and Helion spoke little afterwards, and 
MacDufi*, who observed them, found they did 
not talk sufficiently. When they were on the 
Boulevard, he said to his companion, — 

“ You know that Miss Burton and Robert Page 
are likely to become engaged. You would be 
wrong to cultivate the antipathy of this young 
man.” 

“ This young man is a fool, allow me to tell 
you. Does he accuse me of anything except a 
great friendship for Miss Burton and a great ad- 
miration for her music ?” 

“ Well, if you have a great friendship for Miss 
Burton, your flrst duty is not to rouse Robert 
Page’s ill-humour as you did this evening.” 

“ Oh, gracious ! Life is too complicated for 
some beings !” 

“I admit it, my friend. But do not forget 
that there are lives more unhappy than yours, 
sometimes with even greater injustice.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


237 


The next day it was Logan’s turn to be ser- 
monised. ‘‘ I believed you were very good,” 
said MacDuff to her, ‘‘ and yet you cause some- 
one to suffer.” 

Without pretending not to understand, she 
answered with some animation, “ What could I 
do ? I displeased Robert Page by remaining at 
my piano, but I should have disappointed Mon- 
sieur de Bernaz by going for a drive. I have 
followed your advice and pleased the one who is 
truly to be pitied, and who cannot go to the Bois 
in a landau, if he is sad. Is it my fault if one 
loves music and the other detests it ? Am I en- 
gaged ? Did I entreat my cousin to be allowed 
to accompany him to Europe ? Is friendship for 
any other, even a great friendship, forbidden to 
me?” 

When he was alone MacDuff thought, “ There 
is too much music and too much friendship be- 
tween these two. Yes, life is decidedly compli- 
cated sometimes.” 

At the end of the second week Helion had not 
received orders to start. But he had dined for 
the second time at Mrs. Tremont’s, and this din- 
ner was quite like the other. Robert Page and 
his aunt’s guest fenced more than once. They 
did not agree on anything, and Logan was al- 
ways on the side of young Bernaz. This time, 
either because it rained or for some other rea- 


238 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


sons, Cousin Bob did not go out for an airing, 
of which be appeared sadly in need. He staid 
the entire evening at an equal distance between 
his aunt’s arm-chair and Logan’s piano. Osten- 
sibly he was studying Baedeker’s Italy.” As 
his cousin bade him good-night after the guests 
had gone and her aunt had retired, Robert 
begged for a few minutes’ conversation. Then, 
in a slightly altered voice, he asked, — 

‘‘ Will you be astonished to hear that I have 
found this evening long ?” 

“ By no means, my dear cousin ; but it is not 
my fault. You could have talked with Major 
MacDuff, who is one of the most interesting men 
I know. Or you might have swelled the audi- 
ence of my concert.” 

‘‘Oh, a concert ! It would be more exact if 
you called it a duo. I have flirted in days gone 
by, and I know by experience how odious in- 
truders are.” 

“ You are right. However, on this occasion, 
you would not have been odious. I was talking 
with Monsieur de Bernaz on the life of our forts 
of the Horthwest.” 

“For Heaven’s sake, in what way could the 
Western forts interest the count?” 

“ I only see one way : because they interest 
me.” 

“ The allusion is easy to understand. This 
fi’eshly-blossomed friend possesses everything 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


239 


which renders a man fascinating, while I am a 
savage without politeness. But there is a differ- 
ence between us two. The talker amuses you 
with his fine phrases ; I, I aspire to something 
more — than to amuse you.” 

Logan feigned not to understand, and an- 
swered, “You do not aspire, I suppose, to change 
my disagreeable nature. I cannot stand defiance. 
I have always been allowed to do what I pleased, 
to say what I think, to go with those whom I 
like. I don’t believe I am capable of a thought, 
an act, a friendship for which I should have 
to blush. Are you the one to hear a grudge 
against me for being an American, which means 
a free woman in the limits of duty and con- 
science ? And have you not always known me 
as such ?” 

“ My dear cousin, let me tell you that the 
cause of my chagrin is to see, precisely, that you 
have changed since — ^you have made Parisian 
acquaintances.” 

“ What must I do to drive away the chagrin ? 
ITot see Monsieur de Bernaz any more ? What 
has he done to deserve this treatment?” 

“ And I, what have I done, Logan, to merit 
what I have suffered this evening? I do not 
feel able to hear a second trial of the same kind.” 

“ What will you do, then ?” 

“ I shall go away. I shall continue alone this 
trip which we contemplated making together. 


240 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ISTeither you nor my aunt thinks of leaving 
Paris.” 

‘‘You knoTV better than I how lazy Aunt 
Georgie is.” 

“And you know better than I, Logan, if at 
this moment you combat this laziness.” 

“ Well, my dear Bob, you are activity personi- 
fied; do go off to Italy. Certainly you have 
sufficiently studied the route this evening.” 

“It cannot be said that you tried to detain 
me.” 

“ By what right ? Do you think that I pre- 
sume to compete with the chef -d' oeuvres which 
await you there ?” 

“ Don’t laugh at me any more, for Heaven’s 
sake. I shall start to-morrow.” 

They parted with these words. Nevertheless 
Robert Page was fond of his cousin, and, as it 
always happens, he loved her much more when 
he found she was on the point of being lost to 
him. His hope was that the aunt, if not the 
niece, would detain him ; but Mrs. Tremont had 
not been pleased lately. Logan and Robert 
began to annoy more than to charm her. Told 
of her nephew’s new-formed projects, she raised 
no objections. 

“ Shall you return soon ?” she simply asked. 

“ I must ; I cannot let you cross the ocean by 
yourself.” 

“ Oh, I have already thought that I could 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


241 


secure the escort of Major MacDuff. He will 
return shortly to Hew York with the count.’’ 

“Very well. I see, my dear aunt, that you 
won’t miss me much.” 

‘‘ I shall miss you, my dear hoy, hut I cannot 
endure to have bickering going on around me.” 

Some hours later the “ dear boy” was rolling 
toward Florence with the agreeable thought 
that, thanks to him, Logan and Helion would 
pass one long week, side by side, on the broad 
Atlantic ! 

‘‘ And do you know something,” said Logan, 
relating this news to the major : “ all I feared 
was that, at the last moment, Robert would 
change his mind. I am sure now that I do not 
love him, and we would have been unhappy to- 
gether.” 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

Helion, who had not wished to trouble his 
father sooner than was necessary, did not inform 
him of his projects until they were almost com- 
pleted. It was of himself first that the Marquis 
thought when the young engineer told him that 
he should pass several months in Hew York. 

You don’t care what becomes of me during 
your absence. My health is not good, what if 
I should be ill ; who will nurse me ?” 

L y 21 


242 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


Maxime was not yet fifty years old; but he 
was beset by two evils, hard for everyone, par- 
ticularly for selfish natures, — poverty and ennui. 
The recent changes in his physical appearance 
struck Helion anew, who replied, — 

‘‘Father, I am going to America to work. 
But I have another aim. This situation, so 
painful, cannot last much longer. With God’s 
help I will not return alone.” 

Maxime closed his eyes and said nothing; it 
was easy to see he had understood. A little 
anxious at this muteness, the young man con- 
tinued : 

“ I have thought a great deal of my mother 
for some time. Your life would be pleasanter 
and we would both be happier were she here.” 

Monsieur de Bernaz shrugged his shoulders ; 
but he did not fiy into a passion as he wmuld 
have done formerly. He replied, wdth a mocking 
air, — 

“ It is all very fine to talk. First, it will be a 
question of finding her ; then, how do you know 
she is not making money, that she is not very 
at your first words she will open 
her arms to you ?” 

“ I will employ every ruse to move her, and 
if it is necessary I will wait, for you are right : 
it is not an ordinary pardon I am seeking. But 
I know the means of bringing back the one 
whom you forced to go away.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


243 


“ "What means 

“I will prove that you need her.” 

“ And you imagine, no doubt, that she will be 
quite happy to return to pour out my cough 
mixtures ?” 

‘‘ Come, father, you know she will.” 

Maxime said nothing, but it was easy to see 
what was his secret desire, his unexpressed hope. 
The greatest sinners have been converted by 
those rude missionaries, — suffering and solitude. 
Reassured as to his father’s real sentiments, 
Ilelion was relieved. "WTiile hurrying his prep- 
arations for his trip, the date of which was not 
yet fixed, he often saw Logan, and was astonished 
to find in his conversations with her how friend- 
ship can illumine a life with joy. When he 
avowed this happiness to the young girl, she 
turned her eyes away and gave an impatient 
shrug. She neglected her music somewhat, hut 
was more enthusiastic than ever for poetry. A 
remarkable thing, in the mouth of this child, all 
nature and simplicity, the poetical expressions 
of tenderness or sublimity, the profound analysis 
of sentiment, appeared a natural and ordinary 
language, so much did she throw her conviction 
into them. Toward the end of an evening, as 
she was reading to Helion some dainty songs of 
Moore, she fell (was it by chance?) upon this 
verse : 


244 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ If I speak to thee in friendship’s name, 

Thou think ’st I speak too coldly ; 

If I mention love’s devoted flame, 

Thou say’st I speak too boldly.” 

She stopped, apparently re-reading the stanza 
to herself, as though she had found a flavour 
especially suiting her taste. Helion gazed at her 
expectantly, awaiting a comment such as she 
was accustomed to make. But without adding 
a word she closed the hook and drew near her 
aunt. Beading for that evening was over. 

A few days afterwards MacDuff and Logan 
were talking alone, when the former turning the 
conversation on Cousin Bob, asked if he had 
written. 

‘‘ Several times. I am afraid he has not de- 
rived as much pleasure from the museums of 
Florence and churches of Borne as he antici- 
pated. There is a suspicion of ennui in his 
letters.” 

‘‘ Write to him to return.” 

Logan’s eyes scintillated like stars while she 
slowly replied, ‘‘Uncle Bufiy, I am too loyal. 
Bobert Page is a good fellow, hut— he has been 
most wise to go and see Italy.” 

“ It remains to be seen, my dear child, if your 
father will share your opinion.” 

“ Thus far he has never made any observation. 
As to Madame Hertel, no doubt you would like 
to know what she has written on this subject. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


245 


Read her letter; there is a message in it for 
you.” 

MacDuff drew near the window, notwithstand- 
ing the light was good, and looked for her 
message first: two kind and heart-felt lines. 
Then after reading them several times he found 
the passage concerning Cousin Bob : 

“ Is it possible my serious Logan has become a 
coquette? What does all this quarrelling and 
separation mean ? All this, dear little one, sa- 
vours somewhat of the Fifth Avenue belle, of 
whom you have made so much fun. And why 
are your eyes opened about poor Bob? And 
now you find him too old for you, because he is 
twenty-nine and you eighteen ! What age, then, 
must your husband be ? Do you know what I 
think? Well, I am afraid that something is 
brewing in your brain in France. Ah! my 
child, never marry a Frenchman : they are not 
the ideal husbands. I have even known some 
who were not the models of sons. Come, make 
your peace with Cousin Bob. Here everyone 
thinks you are engaged.” 

As can be imagined, MacDuff remained 
thoughtful after finishing this letter. Handing 
it back to Logan, he said, — 

“ You have not mentioned Helion de Bernaz 
to our friend ?” 

“ Why, no ; did I not promise ?” 

“ And if you had not promised ?” 

21 * 


246 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ Oh then, maybe, I would have spoken a good 
deal. Uncle Dufiy. I tell Madame Hertel every- 
thing.” 

‘‘ Wouldn’t you really (I speak from a general 
point of view) be afraid to marry a Frenchman ?” 

‘‘Would you. Monsieur le Major, be afraid to 
marry a Frenchwoman, from a general point of 
view likewise ?” 

“And — a Frenchman of twenty-three?” con- 
tinued MacDuff, without replying to her question. 

“ Well, one might wait until he had reached 
twenty-five. Besides, he needs to work.” 

“ Logan, answer me frankly. Has Helion de 
Bernaz shown you he has some hopes ?” 

“ He ? I cannot even make him defer his trip 
so as to cross with me. All that he hopes is to 
meet me sometimes ‘ during his stay in America,’ 
and then from a distance ‘ to remain my friend 
forever.’ ” 

“ That is well,” said MacDuff to himself. 
“ What disillusion had I discovered him to be 
an intriguer !” 

Must it be supposed that the major could 
occasionally become an intriguer himself? It 
is certain, at least, that chance, or some other 
occult power, contrived to make the departure 
of Helion and Mrs. Tremont take place at the 
same time, and they made the crossing together, 
accompanied by MacDuff. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


247 


For the first time young Bernaz looked upon 
a sea without limit, and Logan initiated him in 
the details of the life which they would lead 
together for a week. Both, happily, were good 
sailors, while poor Aunt Georgie, always uncom- 
fortable on the sea, scarcely left her state-room. 
Chaperoned by MacDuff, the young people 
passed long hours on the deck. The first day 
they were contented silently to gaze upon the 
immense blue of the ocean and sky. But the 
next they opened the hooks which they had read 
together, as though requiring others’ poetry, 
having exhausted their own. The third day, 
however, they talked, less intimidated by the 
presence of the Infinite. Henceforth their own 
conversation still surpassed for them the voice 
of nature and the songs of the poets. 

“How quickly time passes when we are to- 
gether !” said the young girl. 

“Do you think that time passes?” answered 
Helion. “ I have the impression it is suppressed. 
How can I make myself understood ? One day 
I remained for some hours in a balloon, very high 
in space. There all that marks the duration of 
time ceased. The ear was no longer awakened 
by the ordinary sounds, the noise of trains 
or carriages, the voices of the passers-hy. The 
eye no longer perceived the faces of the clocks, 
the succession of the acts of life, the changing 
of shadows. There were no longer shadows, 


248 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


only the sun, immobile in appearance, and we. 
After descending among our fellow-beings, I 
was quite surprised to see that the world had 
aged by a few hours. That is what regularly 
happens to me when I leave you.’’ 

“Is that so?” said the young girl. “But 
when you were up in the air, didn’t you wish 
never to descend ?” 

“ Alas !” sighed Helion, “ a moment always 
comes when the balloons have no more ballast, 
— when the boats enter port; one must he re- 
signed.” 

Logan did not choose to answer, and her com- 
panion had not learned what means to take to 
make certain dreams last. But very probably 
his mind dwelt upon it during the night, for the 
next day he hunted the verse from Moore, and 
this time it was he who read. His voice, already 
trembling, failed him suddenly a^er this line : 

“ If I mention Love’s devoted flame ” 

Helion started and looked at Logan, who, feign- 
ing to he unconcerned, contemplated off in the 
horizon the smoke of an invisible vessel. With- 
out turning toward her companion she asked, — 

“What is the matter? At least finish the 
stanza.” 

“But,” he said, his voice quite tremulous, 
“ some one has erased with a pencil the last 
line, — 


‘ Thou say’st I speak too holdly.’ ” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


249 


All, I remember,” said Logan, whose cheeks 
grew scarlet. ‘‘ I erased it myself. It is a false 
line. They escape even from the greatest poets.” 

“ So,” murmured Helion, encouraged, “ if this 
line is false, allow me to replace it by a line of 
prose which is true : ‘ I love you, dear Logan/ 
How you know my secret, a secret which seems 
to me already old. Ask MacDuff what I told 
him the first day after you had left me. But 
you had looked at me. From that moment 
your eyes have haunted me by day and by 
night, during my work, and in my dreams. I 
loved you; now I adore you. Great heavens! 
how are you going to answer me ?” 

“I do not know how one should answer in 
such a case,” said Logan, whose eyes answered 
clearly enough. “You are the first man who 
has ever spoken to me so.” 

“ What ! Hot even — Cousin Bob ? Is it pos- 
sible ? What a joy ! I am the first ! Then you 
will never forget. And I, who believed myself 
a moment ago a poor boy, too soon condemned 
to struggle for life, now I am a man. I have 
aged; my strength has doubled; I am proud. 
I love and I have told my love. Alas! you 
have answered nothing.” 

“It is because I have not your resignation,” 
murmured the young girl. “If I ascended in 
a balloon I should not wish to come down.” 

Then, as a steward circulated the deck sound- 


250 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ing a gong, she disappeared, leaving Helion 
thoroughly perplexed. He rejoined the major, 
who was smoking, his head buried in a hook, 
and, seizing him by the arm, said, — 

I am afraid you will take me for a madman. 
Guess what I have just said to Miss Burton.” 

“ To look at you is enough, my friend. Only 
try to keep the entire boat from guessing it as 
well as myself. You wear it written on your 
countenance. But what did she answer ?” 

“ That is the trouble ; her reply puzzles me.” 

He then related his speech to the young girl 
and its conclusion. 

The major seemed to expect something more. 
As Helion was silent, he asked, “ That was all 
you said ?” 

“ What would you have added in my place ?” 
asked Helion. “I know only too well that I 
cannot marry Miss Burton.” 

“Then, my friend, you had no right to tell 
her that you loved her. These words confided 
to ears as pure as hers must not be said without 
the others : ‘ Will you he my wife V Supposing 
that she loves you, what could she have answered 
you ?” 

“Ah!” sighed Helion, “only to know that 
she loves me, that she has loved me, would he 
the supreme happiness of my entire life. We 
shall not he the first whom destiny has sepa- 
rated.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


251 


You speak as you would in France,” said tlie 
major. “ With you a declaration is made as one 
tosses a flower in passing. With us a man does 
not offer his love except he has the right, the 
desire to offer himself. That is why our young 
girls can traverse America without other protec- 
tion than the respect of men.” 

But then. Miss Burton — what does she think 
of me?” 

“ That I do not know ; she will tell you when 
you have said what you must say. If she re- 
fuses you, it will he a punishment for your — 
national impulsiveness. But the honour of a 
young girl will he safe, and you will have accom- 
plished your duty.” 

‘^Duty so soon — and I was so happy!” 

“ But, my poor friend, duty is born the mo- 
ment love awakes. And sometimes he has a 
twin brother called — hopeless grief.” 

Helion opened his large eyes, for he was little 
accustomed to such discourses. 

They are about sounding the last gong,” 
observed his companion, as though to dispense 
with saying anything more. It is time to think 
of the duty of the present hour, which is to get 
ready for dinner.” 

Logan after that meal joined her aunt as was 
her habit. The next day when she appeared on 
deck she found young Bernaz quite changed. 
He no longer deserved the reproach of not 


252 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


having reflected : his entire night had been 
spent in reflections, scarcely consoling. Every- 
one of MacDuff’s words had returned to his 
mit]d twenty times. Their truth appeared evi- 
dent. He understood — how was it possible he 
had not understood sooner? — that with Logan 
he could not remain at this point. But above 
all he realised the enormous, unpardonable fault 
he had committed in hiding from the young girl 
his situation, in respect to his mother or even 
her existence. He had not spoken much more 
of his father, it is true, only there he had noth- 
ing to hide. On the contrary, he felt his brow 
grow moist with anguish at the idea of the con- 
fession which had become necessary. He had 
not forgotten the words spoken in the Jar din 
d’Acclimatation : ‘‘ The one who can forget his 
mother is accursed.” And it was Logan Bur- 
ton, this tender and loyal creature, who had 
manifested such a horror of the ungrateful son, 
that he must ask to be his wife ! To propose to 
her under these conditions was more than folly. 
One could see in this proposal something like an 
outrageous bravado, which -would end forever 
even the most common friendship, even esteem. 
He shivered as he imagined the look that this 
young girl would cast on him. He understood 
that either he ought not to see her again or he 
ought to present himself with his mother lean- 
ing on his arm, — his mother, found again, loved 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


253 


again, forgiving. It can be seen bow Helion 
expiated for a part of his fault during this single 
night. When he found Logan the next day, he 
was agitated less with fear than shame. 

‘‘ Do not condemn me ; my heart ran away 
with my reason. I have told you that I love 
you, without adding that my life, my name, my 
future, belong to you. But for the moment it is 
I who implore you not to answer. To-day so 
many things separate us. You will decide — a 
little later. While waiting, I am yours.” 

‘‘ It is exactly so that I understood it,” said the 
young girl, with a look in which could be read 
her uprightness of soul. “ Yothing hurries us. 
As we are now, are we not very happy ?” 

These words dissipated some of the veiled 
clouds from Helion’s soul. Certainly he did not 
dare to look the future in the face ; but the pres- 
ent was so bright. Alas ! the vessel continued 
its rapid course. When the last day of the voy- 
age had sped by, when Logan had disappeared 
down the companion-way, Helion approached 
MacDuff with a heavy heart. 

‘‘Thus is my dream over,” said he; “to-mor- 
row the reality will commence. We shall land 
before mid-day. What shall I do in this great 
city? — where begin steps to find my mother? 
You promised to assist me.” 

“Rest easy; I am myself impatient to place 
you in the arms of the exile. Even — must I 
22 


254 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


admit it? — I have been jealous for her. You 
thought too much of Logan. 

“ Do you imagine I can think of one without 
thinking of the other ? Do you forget the words 
she once said to me: Mde who abandons his 
mother is accursed’ ? and, my God, it is true ! 
Who will ever believe that my eyes had remained 
closed to this light, up to the day when Logan 
spoke ? Am I accursed ? Is it possible ?” 

“Yo, my friend, it is not possible. I hope 
that you will see it soon, in the first kiss of your 
mother. Nevertheless you understand all the 
evil which that man Fischel has caused. He 
plunged your heart, your conscience, into a mag- 
netic sleep. But Logan spoke. It is not the 
first time that a virgin has trampled upon the 
head of a serpent.” 

They talked thus until a late hour. On leav- 
ing the major, Helion repeated to him for the 
hundredth time, “ How does it happen you are 
so good to me ?” 

Then, after a sigh, he added, sadly, “ God for- 
bid that I should cast a word of reproach on my 
father, but if you had a son how happy he would 
be !” 

And I will tell you, dear boy, how I pity your 
father, who has not appreciated his happiness !” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


255 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

The “ Transatlantic” was in port. It had slued 
around with difficulty in the midst of the crowd 
of vessels which scarcely allowed the surface of 
the yellow water to be seen. In a last effort it 
glided like an enormous reptile into the cavity 
of the pier; immediately it was made fast and 
the gang-plank was raised from the quay. The 
passengers, impatient to touch terra firma, poured 
out in a long stream, pressed between the hand- 
rails, like the lockweir of a canal. When the 
torrent had ceased its surging, Mrs. Tremont 
advanced, assisted by MacDuff, Logan followed, 
escorted by Helion ; but distinguishing her father 
beneath a shed, she forgot everything else, and 
ran to meet him. Then the young man, left to 
himself, felt what obstacles were raised between 
him and his beloved. She was already sur- 
rounded by a bevy of acquaintances, and her 
arms were loaded with bouquets. 

‘‘ Her family, her country, will rob me of her,” 
thought Helion. But he was immediately dis- 
tracted from this sad thought. A woman al- 
ready matured, singularly distinguee in the midst 
of this crowd, in a dress almost a mourning 
costume in its simplicity, had raised her veil to 


256 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


kiss Miss Burton. As she turned to the major 
with outstretched hands, Helion could see her 
face, a little worn, of which the lines, still fine, 
were at this moment retouched bj a restrained 
joy. Struck with stupor, he stood rooted to 
the spot as in a dream. If this was not his 
mother whom he had before his eyes, never did a 
more marvellous resemblance exist between two 
women. But a mistake was possible. Six years 
had already passed since he left Bernaz, and from 
that day he had never seen his mother’s face. 

Fearing to approach, he remained lost in the 
crowd, which shoved him like an inanimate ob- 
ject. What most astonished him was to see his 
mother (if, indeed, it were she) almost strangled 
by Logan’s caresses, and although he could 
scarcely collect his ideas, this sight brought 
an inexpressible anguish to his heart. At last 
MacDufl* approached and said to him, quite 
low, — 

“ It is she. Be master of yourself ; understand, 
she must not recognise you — here.” 

By an overwhelming gesture he showed that 
he understood too well. For the moment he 
was compelled to hide himself like a culprit. It 
was his punishment. He could not, he must not 
push away the hands of these strangers who had 
become the exile’s new family by saying to them, 
“ Make place for me ; I am her son.” 

The major had returned to the group, and 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


257 


seemed to discass with Miss Burton; then he 
came back to the young man, who, struck by a 
sort of terror, had not dared to move. As they 
were being driven to their hotel, MacDuff said 
to his companion, — 

“You know now who this Madame Hertel 
was of whom we have spoken so many times; 
but you do not know how I adored her. I 
spoke, for I thought that she was a widow; 
then she told me everything. Do you under- 
stand why I wished to bring back happiness to 
this martyr? Soon I shall place you in her 
arms. Then, the task finished, I shall return to 
my solitude.’’ 

“ My God ! What can I say ?” 

“ You cannot say anything; you, least of all. 
Do not think of me, Helion. Think of the 
solemn hour which is approaching.” 

“ I will see her this evening ?” 

“Yes; each instant that passes is for your 
mother one sorrow more, one happiness less, — 
and life is so short !” 

In the evening, toward nine o’clock. Burton, 
his daughter, and Madame Hertel were prolong- 
ing their chat around the table, covered with 
flowers as on great occasions. The servants had 
disappeared, their service ended. The general 
asked his daughter a hundred questions, and was 
astonished at an indifference so unusual in this 
young person. 


22 * 


258 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ You do not seem to be quite happy to be at 
home with us. What would you like, then? 
To return to Koutenai ?” 

“ Oh, no,’’ replied Logan. “ I can find happi- 
ness in ISTew York.” 

‘‘ Must we suppose, then, that it is the absence 
of Eobert Page which has cast a gloom over you ? 
Why did you fall out ?” 

“We did not fall out. It only depends upon 
me to be rejoiced by his presence.” 

“ Eeally, he is a good fellow,” said Madame 
Hertel. I wonder ” 

“For Heaven’s sake,” answered the young 
girl, impatiently, “ what interest can you have in 
him, then?” 

“ Tow-head, travelling does not improve you,” 
asserted Burton. “The French have ruined 
your disposition.” 

As Logan was about to reply MacDuff appeared 
on the threshold. 

“ You dare to show yourself here !” cried the 
general ; “ you, who refused my invitation, with- 
out doubt to go find a mysterious lady-love ?” 

“ Ho lady-love attracted me,” replied MacDufi*, 
without noticing this chaff. “But I am not 
alone. A friend, who is waiting in the drawing- 
room, wishes to see Madame Hertel and to de- 
liver a message from France.” 

“ My heavens, what has happened ?” said Chan- 
tal, as she left the table. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


259 


“ Nothing unpleasant, Madame. Only we de- 
sire, my friend and I, that your interview should 
be confidential.” 

“ Good ; I am going to my den,” said Bur- 
ton. 

“ And I to my room,” added Logan. ‘‘ Shall 
I see you presently. Uncle Duffy?” 

‘‘ Probably ; I intend to finish the evening with 
the family.” 

* Chantal opened the drawing-room door, and 
saw a tall young man standing before the fire- 
place. He was pale and looked tired ; he seemed 
about twenty-five years of age or more, his full 
heard giving him the appearance of being older 
than he was. But his black eyes had not changed. 
This look was the same ; sweet, veiled, a little 
sad, that a poor forsaken mother cherished in 
her memory. And yet, how was it possible 
that Helion could be in this place, — that this 
man was the youth whose last words, almost 
childish, still vibrated in her ears, — ‘‘Adieu, 
mamma” ? 

Chantal waited for a gesture, for a word, to he 
sure. Helion believed that his mother hesitated 
to open her arms to him. It was with a sob of 
pain, the sob of a punished child begging for- 
giveness, that he uttered this single word instead 
of all the prayers of pardon which he had pre- 
pared : “ Mother !” He wept without shame, 
without restraint, hands clenched, his eyes fixed 


260 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


on his mother. She, deadly pale, could see no 
more ; she staggered ; her son sprang to sustain 
her, not knowing yet if he had been forgiven. 
Chantal murmured, My darling ! ah ! my — 

dear ” Then she fainted. 

MacDuff had already half opened the door 
of an adjoining room and called, Come 
quickly !” 

Logan appeared on the threshold. He pointed 
to Chantal extended on the sofa, pressed in 
Helion’s arms. Then, knowing that joy carries 
in itself the surest remedy, he withdrew, and 
joined Burton to tell him the history of — the 
Marquise de Bernaz. 

- He could not foresee, however, the scene which 
was enacted after he closed the door. Logan 
thought herself dreaming to see Madame Hertel 
fainting on the sofa and Helion covering her 
with kisses. But when the young man turned 
toward her, she was dumfounded to see the 
most perfect resemblance between these two 
faces. So she was scarcely surprised at these 
words : ‘‘ She is my mother V’ 

Awakened by this name as by a magic wand, 
the poor, broken creature, smiling, opened he» 
eyes. Then her son, like those sinners who pro- 
claimed their faults from the church door, con- 
tinued his confession, still kneeling, 

‘‘ She is my mother ; she is a saint ! And I 
by a monstrous madness was turned against her. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


261 


I disowned her, I have reduced her to despair. 
It is through me that she left France V’ 

Her eyes brimming over with tears, Chantal 
placed a trembling finger on her son’s mouth. 

‘‘Do not say such things. You will repent 
it. You have come — you have found me. God 
bless you, my son !” 

“ Ho, dear mother, I found nothing. It is 
Monsieur MacDuff who found me, who has 
drawn me from the abyss, has brought me to 
you.” 

“ Ah !” she almost whispered, once more 
closing her eyes. “ How I understand every- 
thing, and I am so happy that it was he.” 

But she did not explain why. After a minute’s 
silence she added: “And you are acquainted 
with my dear Logan ?” 

“Yes, I am acquainted with her. How good 
it is to have a mother to tell everything to! 
Mother, if you only knew — I love her !” 

Saying these words he tried to take the young 
girl’s hand, who had not spoken since she en- 
tered. But Logan drew it brusquely away, as 
though to avoid the contact. Her perturbed 
face bore witness of her bitter disappointment. 
The azure of her eyes had become almost black. 
Helion had never seen her look so. Her breast 
rose tumultuously with restrained indignation, 
which finally burst forth : 

“ Why did you not tell me sooner what man- 


262 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ner of man yon were ? I saw you unhappy, I 
pitied you. You had a shadow upon your face. 
I understand now — that which I took for sad- 
ness. And I at first was all sympathy for you ; 
and finally ” 

She cut short her speech by an angry move- 
ment; forgetting the judge before whom she 
was prosecuting Helion, the impulsive and con- 
scientious creature addressed herself to Chantal : 

‘‘ Do you believe that I, Logan Burton, have 
managed like the most cunning of coquettes to 
give this unnatural son the courage to say to me, 
‘ I love you’ ? I want to forget, I will forget that 
he has ever spoken such words to me. Great 
heavens ! I tremble when I think of the future 
which awaits him, — even his wife. In truth, it is 
something frightful to think of. One has heard 
of thieves and murderers grow to old age appar- 
ently happy ; but the ungrateful son, unfaithful, 
rebellious, has never escaped punishment in this 
world, he nor his, — never — never P’ 

She had said these words with an increasing 
energy, her cheeks on fire, her eyes overflowing 
with tears. Painfully impressed, Chantal replied, 
in a reproachful tone, — 

It is singular, my dear Logan, to see you the 
more severe of us two. What has my son done 
to 3^ou ? I have pardoned him.” 

“ It was your duty ; you are his mother.” 

At these words the young girl disappeared, no 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 263 

doubt to give vent to ber tears. Helion kissed 
Madame Hertel’s hands and said, — 

“ It would be too much happiness to have found 
you so quickly, so easily. The words which have 
just been spoken are only the truth. I must be 
punished. But I can suffer everything now.’’ 

As Chantal was on the point of replying. Bur- 
ton came in. He was alone, and on his face there 
was an expression of coldness which was not 
habitual to it. “Ah, Madame la Marquise,” 
said he, bowing, “ if I had only known ! Why 
did you not tell me your story ?” 

“What could you have done for me?” she 
answered. “I could not bear to prejudice in 
your eyes what I hold dearest in the world, — 
my son !’’ 

Burton, without replying, shook Helion’s hand, 
but the rough frankness of the old soldier pre- 
vented him from hiding a visible constraint, 
almost an antipathy. 

“ You intend making some stay in America?” 
he asked, affecting to put the conversation on 
common ground. 

“ Oh,” said the young man, “ I am a sort of im- 
migrant. I will commence to-morrow to work. 
I have been sent to a factory in Brooklyn to per- 
fect my knowledge in a business.” Then turn- 
ing to his mother : 

“ I shall be obliged to live some little distance 
away. W e will see each other as often as possible.” 


264 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


“ Eest easy,” she answered ; ‘‘ we shall see 
each other every day, and several times a day.” 

The clock sounded midnight. 

‘‘We must part already,” said the Marquise. 
“ Tell the major that I wish to see him to-mor- 
row.” 

“ He is waiting to escort your son,” announced 
Burton. 

“ I suspected as much,” replied Chantal. “ I 
know him.” 

Helion put his arm around his mother ; after 
having looked a long time at him, she kissed 
him. “ Good-night, my darling son. I give you 
my blessing.” Then in a graver voice: “And 
your father ?” 

“Ah! my poor father, he is changed, un- 
happy. What will become of him ?” 

“ Do you think that I do not know my duty ? 
Go, dearest, until to-morrow. What sweet 
words !” 

The following morning MacDuff presented 
himself before the Marquise. She said a few sim- 
ple words to him and extended her two hands. 

“As long as I live you will be my dearest 
friend. May you be happy !” 

“I cannot hope to be happy; but you are, 
and that is enough.” 

Without further tenderness they spoke of 
Helion, of his love for Logan, of the sudden 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


265 


change unexpectedly shown in the young girFs 
disposition. 

“It must be acknowledged,” said Macduff, 
“ that the child’s ideal has suffered a great blow. 
Many would have been blinded by love ; but you 
have known her a long time. Her soul is com- 
posed of enthusiasm and of justice. She has not 
studied Helion and the surroundings of his life 
as I have done. She cannot understand that he 
could do what he has done without being bad 
at heart. You were far away, and the enemy, 
I mean Fischel, was on the spot. Your son 
heard but one voice. They had mesmerised his 

conscience, blinded his eyes to equity Oh, 

these marital separations! But his conscience 
has awakened ; he will be a good man.” 

“Do you think he will be very unhappy?” 
asked the Marquise. “Is he seriously in love 
with Logan ?” 

“ I think so. The proof is, he does not wish 
to see her again, and I approve of it. He will 
live in Brooklyn, where his factory is situated. 
Burton will give you all necessary liberty for 
frequent meetings.” 

“ Meetings ?” interrupted Chantal. “ Do you 
think that I shall remain with the Burtons while 
my son is so near me? Ho; from to-morrow 
we will live together. Besides, I would feel out 
of place in this house where they have been so 

severe to him.” 

M 23 


266 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘ Do not act hurriedly. You have a comfort- 
able home with people who love you. Then the 
question of money comes in. You do not im- 
agine the hardships of a life in lodgings with 
the necessity of extreme economy.” 

Madame de Bernaz refused to listen to any- 
thing. Without loss of time she saw Burton, 
recounted to him loyally the romance of the two 
young people and informed him of her resolu- 
tion, which was, to tell the truth, accepted rather 
eagerly. The general saw that his daughter was 
unhappy, and thought that she would forget 
more quickly this ‘‘ romance,” nipped in the hud, 
after everything which might recall untoward 
memories had been removed. As for Logan 
herself, her friend’s decision caused her more 
joy than sorrow, though she evinced nothing of 
it. She had banished Helion in the first moment 
of revolt; but, tortured in her own heart, she 
suffered less at the thought that he, at least, 
would have a mother to sustain him. However, 
as it often happens, her generous sentiments were 
not understood ; the finer the nature the more 
difficult it is to comprehend. So the Marquise 
de Bernaz parted with the Burtons, her heart 
wounded. Far from admitting that her son 
could be blamed, even for past conduct, she pre- 
tended that everybody ought to admire him. 
Such are true mothers. 

Meanwhile, MacDuff haunted certain quarters 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


267 


of Brooklyn and found the required lodgings. 
The rooms were not extensive, hut the view was 
magnificent, — all the roadstead and the Statue 
of Liberty, France’s colossal gift, which does not 
always behold liberty in its true proportions. 

In America things are done quickly ; two days 
later Chantal began housekeeping. She even 
had a guest, whom she would not, in all likeli- 
hood, entertain again for a long time, for Mac- 
Dufi* was to start on the morrow for Koutenai. 
But in spite of their efforts mother and son be- 
trayed their sadness. 

“ Helion,” said the major, “ how can you help 
smiling with your mother before you ?” 

“ To smile, I should he obliged to forget what 
I have cost her. She was rich, or at least she 
lived so. Compare this place with the house she 
has just left, this dinner with the one she would 
have eaten this evening.” 

Chantal instead of replying took a morsel of 
bread and pressed it to her lips. 

“ It is you who have paid for it ; it is you who 
support me now. How I shall feast if only you 
are happy !” 

“ I am very happy,” affirmed the young man, 
with a smile which made one think of certain 
winter suns struggling against the mist. 

‘‘We are all of us very happy, that is evi- 
dent,” concluded the major. “You, my hoy, 
will land in France in a few months with your 


268 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


mother on your arm; and if you succeed in 
your business you will be a rich man. As to 
you, Madame, your trials, I mean the hardest, 
are over. I am returning to my wild life, for 
which, evidently, Grod intended me. Let us not 
imitate, my dear Helion, those little girls who 
cry when awakening from a dream during which 
wings had sprouted from their shoulders. "We 
are not angels, but poor human beings, who must 
walk on, stony as the way may be. We wall 
walk courageously. Do not complain, either of 
you, who can journey on, sustained by each 
other, and think sometimes of old MacDuff.” 

Without replying, Helion and the Marquise 
looked at each other with moist eyes, these eyes 
which were as alike as two copies of the same 
picture. But at this moment a light sparkled in 
the mother’s eyes which was not to be seen in 
her son’s, and it was MacDuffs joy to discern 
the difference. When he left, a couple of hours 
later, he carried with him this vision, resigned to 
have no other happiness until the end of his life. 

The next day, before taking his seat in the 
Pacific train, he stopped an instant to see his old 
comrade. 

“You will find papa on the platform,” said 
Logan. “ So, you are going away.” 

“Yes, my child ; I have nothing more to do 
in this civilised part of the world. Au revoir t 
Friends forever, is it not ?” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


269 


‘‘Forever, Uncle Duffy. Even though I owe 
my first disillusion to you.” 

“ Ah, my dear, it is easy to see you did not 
dine with them last evening. There I was bathed 
in an atmosphere of tenderness. Well, I hope 
you will never discover anything in Robert Page 
hut perfections.” 

Instead of replying, the young girl asked, — 

“ I would like to know if you are going away 
still so unhappy. You don’t deem me unworthy 
of possessing your secret, do you ?” 

“ No, little one, even though you have stolen 
it. Pity me with all your heart, for I am very 
unhappy.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

A FEW days afterwards Chantal said to her 
son, as he was about starting for his place of 
business, — 

“I fear to arouse certain memories, certain 
youthful dreams, dear boy. However, I do not 
wish to act unbeknown to you. What shall I 
do ? I left the Burtons a little brusquely. True, 
they were severe; but is it becoming in us to 
sulk ? I do not think so. I would like to see 
these old friends, if only to tell them how happy 
I am. I wish I could tell it to all the world.” 

23 * 


270 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


‘‘My poor mother, you are like a bankrupt 
who is trying to start business afresh.” 

“Why not? Your debts are paid, — well 
paid.” 

“ Oh, not yet ; but they will be, I swear to you ! 
Well, mother dear, go and see the Burtons. You 
can tell your old friend she has spoken the truth 
as ever. Already I have been punished in this 
world.” 

“Patience! You are not twenty-four years 
old. At your age one forgets.” 

“ One does not forget Logan Burton, and you 
know it well. Do you think I do not see how 
you miss her ? You will always miss her, be- 
cause one cannot do without her when once one 
has loved her. You do not deny it, for you 
cannot prevaricate. But I do not complain. I 
do not wish to be pitied. You are here, I have 
paid for my happiness; it is only just; I do not 
think that I have paid too dearly.” 

He pressed a long kiss on his mother’s brow 
and left. Chantal said to herself, “ Helion is 
right. I do miss her. I think of her a hundred 
times a day, only to call her my daughter ! What 
a dream ! Heavens 1 why should we spoil our 
lives by impossible dreams ?” 

Miss Burton was at home and sprang into her 
visitor’s arms. “ How good of you to come !” 
she cried. “I was dying to go and see you. 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


271 


But I scarcely believe that my father would 
approve of my visit.” 

« Why not ?” asked the Marquise, haughtily. 

“Oh, because — because he bears a grudge 
against a naughty friend who left us suddenly. 
Do you know her ? She called herself Madame 
Hertel.” 

“ I know her still,” said the Marquise. “ She 
has not changed. She misses you terribly, your 
father and you. But now she has new duties, 
and then — she is so happy !” 

“ Truly? You are happy?” 

“ More than w^hen God first gave me my son. 
What a day was yesterday ! It was Sunday ; he 
was entirely mine. We prayed together. In 
the afternoon we walked, and we dined tete-a-tete 
at a little restaurant in Harlem. Would you 
believe, he was taken for my husband ?” 

“I could think so easily; you have become 
younger by ten years. And he seems so old 
for his age. While you were having a good 
time, I staid at home bored to death.” 

“ Poor Logan ! It is not my fault.” 

“ How coldly you say that ! You do not love 
me.” 

“ Dear child, I love you more than any other 
creature, after my son.” 

Some days later Burton and Logan returned 
Madame de Bernaz’s visit at an hour when they 
were confident of finding her alone. Too gener- 


272 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


ous to reflect upon her friend, Logan repressed 
the exclamation which nearly escaped from her 
lips upon beholding the more than modest sur- 
roundings. But Chantal understood this silence 
and the distressed look of her visitor. She said, 
with a bold display of maternal pride, — 

What matters all the rest? I have my son. 
My dream is realised. My fears are dissipated. 
He loves me ; he has a heart ; he knows how to 
sufler; he is a man! Evil influences have not 
spoiled 'diim. And how he works to support 
himself — and his mother 

Logan brought with her some magnificent 
roses, a luxury in this season. At last she found 
a vase, in which she placed her offering with the 
tender care she always showed in the arrange- 
ment of flowers. But, by accident, no doubt, 
the vase was placed before a photograph of 
Helion. The general in the mean while was 
saying to the Marquise, — 

^‘That you have forgiven I can understand. 
But you have forgiven too quickly. I know 
everything now. Your heart has been torn from 
your breast.” 

‘‘ If you only could have heard him when he 
called me ‘ Mother.’ My wound was healed by 
this one word, as though by a miracle.” 

“ I have been in the war, and I know by ex- 
perience that wounds reopen,” said Burton, un- 
moved. May you not experience it some day ?” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


273 


“ Many sadnesses await me,” replied Chantal. 

Even the present is not without pain ; hut I 
fear nothing from my son. Let us speak of 
something else please.” 

They spoke of MacDuff, who had written from 
Koutenai. There everything went on as usual. 
But there was one piece of news. Nicolaus had 
a son, for whom the major had stood god-father. 
The latter added : 

‘‘ These worthy people wished to have Madame 
Hertel for god-mother. That was a IHtle diffi- 
cult. But the baby is called Helion.” 

Logan spoke little during this visit : she could 
not sit still in her arm-chair, and aimlessly wan- 
dered around the room, looking first at one ob- 
ject and then at another, then returning to her 
roses to pull up a stem or to bring to view a full- 
opened fiower. She promised many visits on 
leaving, but she was destined to see the little 
apartment in Brooklyn only once more. Helion 
on his return home gave, as was his custom, a 
tender kiss to his mother. 

“ Did you go out ?” he asked. 

At this moment his eyes caught sight of the 
bunch of flowers which were so boldly displayed 
in the middle of the table. He asked no ques- 
tions ; he would not even inhale the perfume of 
these roses, which he recognised as Logan’s fa- 
vourite variety. After a short reflection he made 
a movement as though to hold himself in check, 


274 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


but his courage was not of the strongest. He 
threw his arm around the Marquise’s neck, lean- 
ing his head on her maternal shoulder. Chantal 
understood. 

You see how good it is to have a mother 
sometimes. But is it my fate always to suffer 
for your sake 

“ Mother, it is not you who are suffering now.” 

“ Ah, I regret the time when I alone suffered 
while you were happy.” 

What hard words ! I have never been happy 
without you, — not for one hour, one minute. 
Hever shall I feel quite unhappy with you.” 

“ Amen,” replied Chantal. 

But during the entire evening the name of 
Logan was not pronounced. 

The next day, as usual, Helion started for his 
place of business, but returned almost immedi- 
ately with a perturbed look. 

“ What is the matter ?” asked the Marquise. 

“On arriving at the office I found a letter from 
my father ; he is ill.” 

Chantal took the paper and closed her eyes. 
She shivered even yet at the memories which 
this handwriting recalled : 

“Last night,” wrote Maxime, “my foot slipped, I do not 
know how, and I fell in my room. I felt no pain at that time, 
but to-day I am suffering with one side of my face, and my left 
arm is useless. Guimard says that it is nothing, and I preferred 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


275 


to write you myself so that you shall not he anxious. Never- 
theless, I wish you were not so far away. I am all alone. Au 
revoir; writing fatigues me. Your Father.” 

While Chantal scanned these lines, her son’s 
eyes never left her face, fearing at heart to find 
her too calm. But he saw that she experienced 
a violent emotion. She asked, — 

“ What shall we do ? Shall we start at once ? 
How can we know whether it is serious ?” 

“It is serious,” said Helion; “here is a letter 
from Dr. Guimard ; he is a friend to us.” 

“ A friend, and he has not cabled ?” 

“ He has explained it in his letter.” 

“ My dear Helion,” wrote Guimard, “ I will not deceive you. 
Your father has had a slight stroke of paralysis. I was going 
to cable you, hut you would have started for Paris, and in your 
position you must avoid a useless journey. I would like you 
to finish your apprenticeship. For the moment all peril is 
passed ; we may he able to have two or three years of respite ; 
such is my hope. It is useless to tell you that your father is 
nursed as well as a man can be. I attend to everything. 
Every week you will receive a bulletin. If I feel any anxiety, 
I will cable you. Depend upon me. Your father suspects 
nothing. A precipitate return would give him a bad shock. 
That must be avoided. Wait, then, and you will hear soon 
again.” 

The Marquise admitted that the advice of 
Guimard was that of prudence. But what a 
hard trial! An entire winter to be passed in 
uncertainty for the morrow I 

“It is my fate,” said Chantal to herself, 
“ never to know peace of mind.” 


276 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


The trial, however, was of shorter duration 
than Guimard himself had expected. A few 
days after the receipt of his letter a cable ar- 
rived which cut short all hesitation : 

“New crisis. N o hope. ’ ’ 

Madame de Bernaz and Helion began their 
preparations, unable to hasten their departure, 
because the next steamer did not sail until two 
days later. Burton, informed of the catastrophe, 
hurried with his daughter to Brooklyn, and once 
more showed all the friendship of former days 
for Madame Hertel. But on encountering He- 
lion’s eyes she appeared troubled, although it 
would have passed unnoticed under other cir- 
cumstances. Seeing that the greater part of the 
furniture had disappeared, the general asked, — 

“ You do not intend to return ?” 

“Yever,’’ said Helion. ‘‘I have not found 
good luck in America.’’ 

As these words escaped him he met his 
mother’s look filled with reproach. 

“ Bear mother, forgive me,” said he, kissing 
her hand. ‘‘ I found you in America; but how 
much sadness mingled with this joy !” 

Their eyes moist, they kissed each other. Tn 
spite of all, there was happiness in these tears, 
and Miss Burton was touched. The father and 
daughter departed, promising to be at the dock 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


277 


on the morrow when their friends were to sail. 
On reaching home Logan wrote a long letter to 
the major. 

‘‘Everything comes to pass,’^ said she in 
finishing. “You pretend that I possess second- 
sight. Well, I have always foreseen that Uncle 
Dufiy would not be unhappy always. And, as 
we have no secrets from each other, I add, that 
since a certain evening spent in my aunt’s salon 
in the Hotel Chatham I have known what is 
destined to he my only possible happiness. (And 
to think that I had sworn a great oath to Ma- 
dame Hertel that I would never he the wife of 
a Frenchman !) That is the reason why, on the 
return of Robert Page, — ^for he has returned at 
last, — when he proposed, no doubt believing that 
I had been cured of my follies, I did not hesitate 
any more than I did the first time. I will never 
be Mrs. Page. Everything comes to pass ; my 
great anger against someone has vanished. I 
have just seen him kiss his mother. There is 
no mistake, he is a good son ! Papa admitted 
as much when leaving them. ‘ This young man 
has a good heart, after all.’ What changes since 
the never-to-be-forgotten evening when the same 
papa said, pulling his moustache, ‘ A good-for- 
nothing fellow’ ! Ho, he is not bad. As for 
having been, — well, I cannot deny that he acted 
like a child. But they say one improves with 
age. An revoir. Do you think that the day will 
24 


278 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


come, if God is good, when I must give up the 
habit of calling you Uncle Duffy? The uncle 
will be replaced by something better. Guess 
what and how 

The hour of departure came. Burton was 
talking with young Bernaz on the deck. 

“ What a lugubrious voyage said Helion. 
“ Is my father dead ? Is he dying at this very 
minute? I have no other thought, and for 
more than a week I shall have no other. Un- 
happy father ! a stranger, perhaps, has closed 
his eyes.” 

“It is not your fault,” replied Burton, “ and 
above all it is not the fault of the most exem- 
plary, the most loyal of wives. I pity her, for 
her heart is sufficiently generous to suffer 
much.” 

In the narrow cabin Chantal and her young 
friend were locked in each other’s arms like two 
devoted sisters, exchanging their adieux. A bell 
warned them it was time to separate. Madame 
de Bernaz pressed a kiss on Logan’s hair. 

“Dear child, shall we ever see one another 
again ? I love you so much. I will always love 
you.” 

The young girl placed her lips to the Mar- 
quise’s ear, and, in a voice as gentle as a sigh, 
said, — 

“ Call me Tow-head.” 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


279 


“ Why ?” asked Chantal, starting. “ Once you 
forbade my doing so. Have you forgotten 

“ Oh, I remember. I told you that only my 
mother had the right to give me that name. 
But” — her voice becoming almost inaudible — 
“you will be my mother — unless he now re- 
pulses me.” 

“ But you were afraid that he would be pun- 
ished, he and his ” 

“If he suffers,” said Logan, “I will suffer 
with him. A little later you will tell him this, 
and add : She says that this would be better 
than to be happy with any other.” 


CHAPTEK XXL 

The snows of two winters have discoloured 
the marble beneath which Maxime de Bernaz 
sleeps, a few paces from the old chateau, closed 
and deserted. The rich manufacturer who had 
bought it was now in his turn experiencing the 
reverses of the revolving wheel of fortune. Once 
again the estate is for sale, and the auction is to 
take place at the office of Dubigeon, notary of 
Chambery. One single bidder is present, a bad 
omen for the auction, which is just opened. Du- 
bigeon talks in a low voice with the creditors, 


280 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT 


who have come to share the money from the 
sale. 

“It is to be regretted,” said one of them, 
“ that the young Marquis de Bernaz is in Amer- 
ica. He would be the right purchaser for the 
chateau which bears his name.” 

“Yes,” replied another; “this young man 
came into a large fortune by his marriage. 
With a little cleverness the auction might be 
boomed. A family estate is worth paying for.” 

“ Ha, ha ! Your wishes are most generous 
towards the inheritor of the name ! It is a pity 
he is not here to profit by them,” said Dubigeon. 

“ Has he been notified ?” 

“ Yes ; I notified him myself,” affirmed the 
notary, “ as well as his mother, who recently 
married Colonel MacDuff.” 

“ And you have received no reply ?” 

“Hot the sign of a letter, nor the briefest 
telegram.” 

“ Who is that gentleman sitting in the corner 
over there ?” 

“ I have not asked his name.” 

The notary had told the truth on every point. 
He had sent a notice to the Marquis de Bernaz, 
engineer, in Hew York, one to “Madame la 
Colonelle MacDuff*,” in garrison at Fort Hamil- 
ton, not very far from her old lodgings in 
Brooklyn. Heither the post nor the telegraph 
had brought any reply to Dubigeon, and when 


A FORGOTTEN DEBT. 


281 


the stranger entered his office, the evening be- 
fore, he had not asked his name, — perhaps he 
knew. 

The auction has begun. iSTo one says a word. 
The chateau is expensive to keep and is sur- 
rounded only by unproductive ground. They 
look at the stranger, who remains quiet like a man 
who is in no hurry. According to the French 
manner, the first time the price is lowered. The 
stranger fidgets; his eyes are hashing, but he 
still says nothing. Dubigeon, very grave, very 
solemn, proposes another figure, still lower than 
the preceding one. The stranger this time ad- 
vances the sum a little. The first wax match is 
lit, a second, a third.* I^o voice has been heard. 

‘‘ Monsieur,’’ said Dubigeon, solemnly, “ the 
estate is yours. In whose name shall I register 
the deed ?” 

The stranger, advancing, extended his hand. 

My dear Dubigeon,” said he, “ I suppose you 
guess. Write, please, that the Chateau de Ber- 
naz has been bought by Marie-Florence-Logan 
Burton, wife of Jean-Fran9ois-Helion, Marquis 
de Bernaz, here present.” 


* In France, sometimes, at the auction of real estate, wax 
matches are used instead of a hammer. After a price has been 
announced a first match is lit, then a second, then a third. 
If this hums out before another purchaser has exceeded the last 
bid, the sale is concluded. (Note of translator.) 


THE END. 


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